Fata Morgana
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Casefile featuring Tim and Stan Burley. Being stranded on a derelict ship is only the beginning. 25 chapters plus an epilogue. I will post one chapter per day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is a story that I wrote _after_ coming up with the title. I loved the idea of having a story named after an optical illusion. It stars Tim and my favorite guest character ever Stan Burley. Stan does have some prominence after the first few chapters, but I like him almost as much as I like Tim; so I don't mind. :) The rest of the team is present as well. This is a definite case file with a bit of character study thrown in.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS, the show or the federal agency, and I'm not making money off this story. I do lay claim to my OCs...but I'm not making money off them either. :)

* * *

**Fata Morgana**  
by Enthusiastic Fish

_Fa·ta Mor·ga·na: noun  
__Meteorology . a mirage consisting of multiple images, as of cliffs and buildings, that are distorted and magnified to resemble elaborate castles, often seen near the Straits of Messina. __Origin: __1810–20; Italian, translation of Morgan le Fay, associated in literature with magical castles_

**Chapter 1**

_Zoom in. Zoom. Zoom. Zoom. Good._

A man was lying on his stomach on the deck. He'd been there for hours. He rolled over with a groan and opened his eyes. He stared up at the sky. There were clouds, but not too many. Not bright blue, not black. Sort of in between. Early evening, maybe? That much decided, he started to sit up and then groaned and fell back...back to the hard metal decking.

He stayed where he was with his eyes closed and listened. He could hear water. He was on the ocean. On deck. But there was no other sound. No engine. No people talking. Just the faint sound of the ocean, maybe a little wind. He lay in a kind of fog for a while and eventually, he opened his eyes again. The sky was darker. It was a little colder.

He took a breath and sat up. His head was spinning unpleasantly. It took a few minutes before he felt stable enough to take note of his surroundings. He saw most of what he'd expected to see. Open ocean, the metal of the ship, but this wasn't the ship he'd half-expected. This wasn't _his_ ship. He didn't know what ship this was. It definitely wasn't what he had been expecting.

Then, he looked around a little more and saw something else he hadn't expected.

A body.

He got to his feet, nearly collapsed from dizziness, righted himself and hurried over. It was a man, and yes, he was dead. The worst of it was that he recognized the man...and he felt a slight stirring of dread. Why here? Why now?

He looked around the deck and saw another figure. He ran over to it.

Another body. Another dead body...and another person he recognized. This was getting worse. He was genuinely worried...more than worried.

"I can't be the only living person on this ship," he said aloud...more to try and make himself feel better than anything else.

It wasn't working.

He sure _felt_ alone...and that wasn't what he was hoping for. He was a good swimmer but he couldn't see any land in the distance...or nearby for that matter.

"Hello!" he shouted.

Nothing.

He looked at the ship. What he could see of it, it looked like a _Kilauea_-class ammunition ship. They were being phased out, but he supposed that some were still in operation. ...but why would he be on an ammunition ship? An empty ammunition ship? No...it wasn't empty. There were the corpses. As he walked around, he noticed there were no lifeboats. That wasn't good, either. How had he been brought here?

He was feeling a bit better, although it was like his mind was a bit blunted. He didn't have time to focus on that at the moment though. He needed to figure out what was happening. Mostly out of a lack of any better plan, he headed for the bridge, hoping to get some idea of where he was, maybe find a clue of _why_ he was there.

He felt light-headed still, and there was the remnant of a headache, but the more he walked around, the better he felt. Onto the bridge.

_Switch. Zoom. Good._

It was empty. No bodies there. Quickly, he walked to the radio console and tried contacting someone.

"Hello? Hello? Mayday, mayday, mayday."

Nothing. He was no engineer or navigator, but he moved around to the other consoles to see if he could get the ship moving. No luck. The entire bridge seemed nonfunctional.

"No power. No engines." He sighed. He wiped at his head. He was feeling sweaty and nervous.

He decided to go below deck to see if he could figure anything out. Right now, he was feeling more than a little worried. It was looking bad. As he headed below decks, he saw ten more bodies. Every one was dead, and every one was a person he knew, however distantly, some just from photos. This was more and more worrying. ...and there was a feeling of being watched, even though, for all he could tell, there was no reason for it. There was no power that he could discern, except for the flashlight he'd found and was using in his explorations. Coming upon dead bodies in the dark was unpleasant at best, but he had to keep moving.

After an hour of wandering around the ship, he thought he heard something.

Some_one_. Alive.

"Hello?" he called out again. The sound echoed through the empty passageways.

A faint groan was all he heard, but that was enough. Quickly, he passed through several hatchways and then looked up. There was a man above, just beside the ladder and he was moving slightly. He climbed up the ladder and knelt beside the only living person he'd found aboard.

"Hey, you all right?" he asked.

In answer, the man opened his eyes, winced and groaned...and closed his eyes again.

"I feel sick," he mumbled and rolled over. Then, he threw up, the vomit landing with an unpleasant splat two levels down. He groaned again after he finished.

"All done?"

"No..." That led to another bout. When he finished, the man rolled onto his back again and looked at him. "We're on a boat, aren't we."

He laughed.

"Don't tell me you get seasick."

The man nodded and closed his eyes.

"You think you can move at all?"

"Maybe...but not yet..."

He rolled over and threw up again. He didn't roll back that time. Instead, he just lay on his stomach, facing the darkness below. He didn't seem inclined to move.

"Would it help to tell you that it's a nice day with calm seas?"

"No..."

"I ran into the medical department while I was looking around. They might have something that can help you around here. It's got to be more comfortable than where you are right now."

"Maybe..." The man pushed himself upright, grabbed his head and groaned...and then rubbed his stomach again.

"Again?"

He spat on the floor and winced. "I don't think so...not yet. Doesn't really feel like there's anything else in there anyway."

"Okay. Let's go."

He helped the man stand up. He reeled and might have toppled down the ladder if he'd been alone. He steadied the man a bit and then they stumbled to the small quarters housing the medical department of the ship. There was a bed there and, thankfully, no bodies.

"Have a lie down and maybe you'll feel better later on."

The man lay down willingly enough and closed his eyes. His face was pinched.

"Hey, before you doze off. What's your name?"

"Tim."

"I'm Stan."

"Great."

Stan smiled. He supposed that he couldn't fault this man for being less than enthusiastic. He was just happy that there was someone else alive on the ship. Before he could say anything more, Tim seemed to be out again. Eyes closed, breathing more even, face pale.

So...two of them alive. More than ten dead.

"Why us?"

Then, the name hit him.

"Tim...McGee?" Stan looked at the unconscious man lying on the bed. He didn't stir.

If he was right, then they might know why this had happened...

...and it wasn't going to be good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Two days ago..._

Tony stretched out at his desk. He had got here in plenty of time and hadn't been rushed. That meant that he could have a bit of downtime before the rest of the team got there and work had to start. Every so often, he liked sitting in the bullpen and just absorbing the ambience of the old building...orange walls included.

Unfortunately, his solitude was interrupted...by the person he least expected.

"Agent DiNozzo, where is Agent McGee?" Vance asked, tersely.

"I don't know," Tony said. "I haven't seen him yet this morning. It's early, you know, Director."

"I'm aware of that," Vance said. "I have a meeting with Agent McGee."

"When?"

"Five minutes ago."

Tony winced a little. "I don't know where he is, but maybe he had car trouble or something. Has he called in?"

"No."

Tony willed Vance to leave, but he didn't see that this was going to happen. The director seemed content to wait until Tim deigned to show up. So much for a moment of solitude.

...but then, salvation came from above.

"Director Vance. You're needed in MTAC."

Vance furrowed his brow and looked up. "Who is it, Ms. Long?"

She just raised her eyebrows expressively. Vance got a serious expression on his face and he nodded.

"If Agent McGee gets here, send him up to MTAC, please."

"What's this about, Director?" Tony asked.

"Need to know, Agent DiNozzo. You don't. Not at this point."

Then, he was gone. Tony was alone, but there was no calm to be salvaged from the morning. Now, he was curious. What was Tim doing for Vance that required and early meeting and mysterious contacts in MTAC? Tony walked over to Tim's desk, ready to rifle through the drawers to see if Tim had left anything out that would give a clue.

He didn't find that, but he did find Tim's bag. He must be here already. Then, where was he if he wasn't at Vance's meeting?

Men's room? Maybe he'd got sick suddenly. Tony walked over to the men's room and peeked inside, but no. It was empty. He walked back out and dialed Tim's number.

"_Hello, you've reached Tim McGee. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and I'll get back to you."_

"McGee, where are you? Vance is apparently expecting you to be _here_ in a meeting with him, and he doesn't look happy."

"You're here early, DiNozzo."

And still no solitude.

"Hey, Boss. Have you seen McGee?"

"Should I?"

"I don't know. Vance has been looking for him. Said he had a meeting. This morning. About ten minutes ago."

Gibbs' eyebrow raised in mute surprise.

"He didn't tell me what it was about...but McGee must be here already. His bag is here."

Gibbs looked at Tim's desk and then at Tony again.

"I already tried to call him, Boss. Didn't answer his phone."

"Okay." He turned and started up the stairs, but then, Vance came out of MTAC.

"Agent Gibbs. Good. Come to my office, please. DiNozzo...find Agent McGee. Now."

"Director, his bag is here," Tony said, pointing. "He must be here somewhere."

"Then, find him," Vance said seriously.

Tony was really confused.

"It was not a suggestion, Agent DiNozzo. Go!"

Tony nodded and sprang into action. He started looking around NCIS but he also called Ziva and asked her to stop at Tim's place to see if he was there and for some reason had forgotten his bag last night.

His first stop was Abby's lab, but it was early enough that Abby wasn't there and there was no sign of Tim, either. His phone rang as he was heading down to Autopsy. It was Ziva.

"_He is not at his apartment and from Jethro's...excitement..."_

"He wasn't there last night?"

"_I am cleaning up a mess on the floor from Jethro. So, I would say that he was not. What is going on?"_

"I wish I could tell you. Vance just told me to find him. He seemed really serious."

"_Perhaps I should bring Jethro with me."_

"Maybe. Your choice."

"_All right. I am worried."_

"I think we should be, although I have no idea why."

"_Do not find out before I get there."_

Tony chuckled. He was worried but he wasn't sure just _how_ worried he should be.

"I'll try not to."

"_Good."_

Tony walked into Autopsy as he disconnected.

"Anthony! What brings you down here so early in the morning?" Ducky asked. He still had his own coat on; so he was just arriving himself.

"Looking for McGee. Have you seen him?"

"Not since he stayed late last night. I saw him working when I left."

"On what?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. He just told me there was some work he had to do before he left but he hoped to be out soon. Why?"

"I'm not sure. Vance seemed to be expecting him this morning and he's not at his apartment and he's not here so far as I can tell. I'm supposed to be finding him. Vance is with Gibbs in his office. I don't know why."

Ducky's expression was one of surprise and concern.

"Since you saw him last night, Vance may want to talk to you."

"Of course. I'll come up and make myself available."

"Okay. I'm going to look around outside. Ziva is on her way."

"All right."

Tony rode up in the elevator with Ducky and then went outside to look for Tim out on the Yard. He figured there wasn't much point to it, but he was going to make sure, first. And when he looked in the parking lot, he realized that Tim's car wasn't there. It was gone.

"His bag is here. His car is gone. He's not at home. He's not at NCIS," Tony mused. "McGee...where _are_ you?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What's going on? Where's McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"I hope that what I'm afraid of isn't reality," Vance said.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that I just received word that Special Agent Stan Burley went missing yesterday and that, currently, Agent McGee is also missing. I'm hoping that he will be found and there won't be the problem I'm afraid there is."

"Which is?"

"Agent Burley contacted me last week with some concerns and I brought Agent McGee on board to help out on our end. The more he found, the more troublesome it became. ...and now, the two agents investigating have gone missing, apparently within twelve hours of each other."

"Why didn't the skipper tell you sooner?"

"They were searching the carrier for him. That takes time, Gibbs. Initially, they were afraid that he had simply fallen overboard. But there was no evidence of it, no sign that he'd gone near the edge, and when they checked the security videos, there's no sign, but there _is_ a period where there's a blind spot on the flight deck. And the skipper didn't know about Agent Burley's investigation. He was keeping it as secret as he could, apparently."

"Not enough."

"So it seems."

"What was he investigating?"

Vance visibly hesitated. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know how you expect me to figure out what happened if I don't know what they were doing before."

"You're right. Get your team. This is still something we need to keep under wraps as much as possible. Bring them up here. If we're lucky, DiNozzo will have found Agent McGee safe."

"But you don't think so."

"No. I don't."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky and Tony were sitting in the bullpen, looking up toward Vance's office. Ziva would be there soon and they were hoping for information about what was going on. Repeated calls to Tim's phone did nothing. They all went straight to voicemail.

The elevator dinged and Ziva got there. Her eyes went to Tim's desk, saw it empty and her face fell.

"He is not here?"

"No. Doesn't seem to be anywhere, but I'm not sure what we're supposed to be doing at this point."

"What is going on?" Ziva asked as she set her things down.

"I wish I knew. It's like everything suddenly got thrown up in the air and we're waiting for the chips to fall."

Ziva's face scrunched up for a moment as she tried to parse Tony's meaning...and then, she nodded slowly.

Gibbs came out onto the balcony, saw them down below and gestured. Ziva didn't waste any more time trying to figure out the American idiom. Even Ducky was quick to mount the stairs up to Vance's office.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance watched the MCRT, plus Ducky, troop in together. This was not the kind of meeting he relished having. Finding Tim not there in the morning had been bad. Finding out that Stan was missing was worse. Now, finding that Tim was likely missing as well just made things all around bad.

_Bad things do come in threes,_ he thought to himself.

"All right. We're here," Gibbs said. "What's going on?"

"About a week ago, two sailors from the _Nimitz_, the carrier to which Agent Stan Burley is assigned, went UA while the carrier was in port. A search was made. There was no sign of foul play; so it was assumed that these two individuals had either deserted or else got themselves into some trouble and would call for help. This was while they were in port."

"I'm feeling a huge _but_ coming in," Tony said.

Vance smiled grimly. Tony had a way of making jokes no matter how serious the situation was.

"There is," he said. "While looking through the sailors' files, Agent Burley found a discrepancy. Both of these men had been informed that they needed vaccine boosters just before they had set out. Agent Burley checked it out, and he could not find where the orders had originated from, but both men had certified approvals from their doctors on file. Agent Burley put in a call to the doctors and found that the approvals had _not_ come from the doctors, but he couldn't see how a forged approval had been entered into the official files, not once but _twice_. That was when he contacted me. He was afraid that this was something bigger than it seemed on the surface. Probably, if the men hadn't disappeared, he wouldn't have thought twice about it."

"But there was something that didn't fit," Gibbs said.

"Exactly."

"What were the vaccines?" Ducky asked.

"That was the other odd thing," Vance said. "The vaccine was listed only with an acronym that isn't on the list of any vaccine currently being used."

"Were they taking drugs?" Ziva asked. "If they were good at using computers, they may have hacked in themselves."

"Agent Burley did check that angle," Vance said. "He told me that he had looked into every possible alternative he could think of, no matter how ridiculous it seemed to him. Neither man had the access necessary to fiddle with their own files and leave no trace of it behind."

"When did McGee become a part of this?" Ziva asked.

"After Agent Burley reported to me. He said that he had called to another carrier that was slated to come into the same port of call after the _Nimitz_ left. He just wanted them to keep an eye out for the two men."

"Wait. I'm getting a flash," Tony said. "Someone was missing from that carrier, too."

"You got it. One technician from the carrier group had gone UA, only they had found an email sent to his girlfriend on file saying that he was going to get back to her. They had already reported back for someone to keep an eye out for him when he came ashore."

"McGee?" Ziva asked again.

Vance nodded. "Agent Burley was worried that this might be more than just an isolated case, but he didn't have the access to all the information that we'd have here. He was afraid that there might be people higher up who were involved in some kind of coverup, although he couldn't figure out what it would be. He wanted to keep this under wraps until we found out what the stakes were. I brought Agent McGee in to help delve into what there might be to find."

"What did he find?"

"His preliminary results were that twenty members of the U.S. Navy have the same vaccination tag in their files and that fifteen had gone missing in the last week. They're spread throughout the world, all the UAs are different. None have exactly the same scenario. And he could not, even with his skills figure out how the files had been doctored."

"You said only fifteen were UA. What about the other five?" Ducky asked. "Surely, they can be found."

"You'd think. They're currently on leave. Agent McGee was looking for them, covertly, but having no success. I don't know if that's because they're the kind who drop off the grid when they're on leave or if it's because they've been taken and we just don't know where they are."

"And you have no idea why?"

"No. That's what worries me most. Agent McGee said that he had some ideas and that he was going to stay late last night to check them out. We said we'd meet up this morning and go over what he'd found. If it panned out, we'd bring Agent Burley in on it, and if necessary, the MCRT to start an official investigation."

"And that brings us up to now," Tony said. "So...now what? McGee is missing. Stan is missing. And...what do you want us to do?"

"I want you to find them, Agent DiNozzo," Vance said. "This appears to be something that is going pretty high up or else there are traitors pretty deep within the Navy. We need to find out what's going on and find our agents...and the sailors who have gone missing. I highly doubt that it's a coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences," Gibbs said. "My lead?"

"Your lead, but I want to be in on this completely, Agent Gibbs," Vance said. "No secret agendas. We need to keep everyone on the MCRT, plus Dr. Mallard, Ms. Scuito, and Mr. Palmer if necessary, in on what's happening. The more who know...within _reason_...the safer I think we'll be."

"Too bad you didn't think of that sooner," Tony muttered.

Vance couldn't blame him for feeling bitter, but he didn't bother to point out the obvious. Oh, the accuracy of hindsight.

"Is that everything?" Gibbs asked.

"You'll want to access everything that Agent McGee was working on. I'll forward all the files to you."

Gibbs nodded and got to his feet. The others followed suit. Vance also stood.

"There is the potential for this to be a lot bigger than two missing agents. Keep that in mind."

"It's my agents I'm worried about," Gibbs said.

Then, they were gone. Alone again, Vance sat down and stared at the ceiling. He just hoped that they weren't dead already.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Present..._

Tim was reluctant to wake up because, as he regained consciousness, his stomach registered its unhappiness with his current situation. Still, whatever was wrong with him wouldn't go away if he kept his eyes closed. So he opened his eyes and was surprised to see that it didn't seem to help in bringing him any more information. It was rather dark. In fact, it was _really_ dark. The only light was faint and dim.

"Hello?" he asked. As he spoke, he felt a strange tension in his neck, but it faded after he moved his head around a little.

"Ah, you're awake again. Good."

"Again?" Tim asked and started to sit up to find the speaker.

"You don't remember?"

"Should I?"

"I don't know. I would have guessed, yes, but since you don't, I guess the answer is no. I'm Stan. You're Tim McGee."

"How did you know?" Tim asked.

Finally, the light approached the bed and he saw a man smiling at him, although his eyes were solemn.

"You introduced yourself before. You're Tim McGee?"

"Yes."

"You're an agent with NCIS?"

"Okay. What's going on?"

"I'm Stan. ...Burley. Agent Afloat."

Tim's eyes widened...and his stomach turned. Apparently, Stan was good at reading body language because he had a bowl in Tim's hands before he had time to think about asking for one. He didn't bring up much, but he had the misery of his stomach trying to turn itself inside out. Then, when he finished, he felt a spasm in his back.

"You done?"

Tim considered. His stomach ached like there was no tomorrow, but he didn't think that he would be throwing up again. Not right now anyway.

"Yeah, I think so." He rubbed his neck...and then, his stomach.

"Good. Have some water. It's a little stale, but it's potable."

Tim swirled some of the water around in his mouth and spat into the bowl. Then, he took a drink. It _was_ stale, but he was glad to have some of the cooling liquid. He felt hot and sweaty after the effort of throwing up.

"Would having fresh air help or hinder?" Stan asked.

"I think it would help...but nothing is going to make me feel _good_."

"Okay. It's been a few hours. I don't know how late it is. No clocks. No watches. No phones. It might be dark on deck, but I didn't see any signs of storms when I was out before."

"Okay."

Tim swung his legs over the edge of the cot he was lying on and started to stand, but he wobbled more than a little. Stan grabbed hold and supported him out of the medical department. They made their way through the dark passageways, up a couple of ladders and out into the open air. Tim took a deep breath and, in spite of the unpleasant rocking, he felt a little better.

...until he looked around and realized that he couldn't see any sign of lights. It was dark...and terribly empty.

"We're in trouble, aren't we," he said softly.

"Yeah, I think that would be accurate," Stan said. "Let's have a seat. We can talk."

"Probably a good idea."

Tim sank down onto the deck and felt another spasm that ran from his neck down his back. He winced.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Maybe whatever they did to me put my back out of whack. It aches."

"Considering the fact that I found you right next to the ladder, on metal decking, a backache doesn't surprise me."

Tim chuckled a little. "So...what happened to _you_?"

"I actually don't know," Stan said. "I've been thinking about it since I found you and realized who you were. The last thing I remember is heading up to the flight deck. I did that every evening. I just like to...to look out at the ocean, especially as the sun is going down. I headed up. Next thing I know, I'm waking up here, on the flight deck...not on the _Nimitz_, like I expected. I have no idea how long I was out, how I _became_ out, or who it was. I don't have _any_ memory of even being knocked unconscious. I just woke up. You?"

Tim took another breath and looked around at the emptiness.

"I was working late at NCIS."

"At headquarters?" Stan asked in surprise.

"Yeah. I was checking out some new ideas about all that stuff going on. I was starting to feel tired. I got up to get some coffee. ...and then, I'm in the depths of misery on a boat."

Stan smiled a little. "It's a _ship_."

"Ha ha. Not funny. But just like you...I don't remember being knocked out. I just remember deciding to get coffee. You think it's about the investigation."

"I don't see any other reason why the two of us would be taken."

"But if they're doing this because we found something, because we're prodding...why didn't they just kill us?" Tim asked. Another spasm had him rubbing his neck.

"You mean like the other dead bodies here?"

"What?"

"Twelve."

Tim felt himself looking around nervously.

"Twelve of the ones who are missing."

"Yeah," Stan said nodding grimly.

"But twenty..."

"Maybe they haven't shown up yet. Maybe they fell overboard. It's not like we can check. Everything's dead here, _including_ the ship itself. We're the only things alive."

Tim felt his stomach tighten in anxiety. That was _not_ what he had hoped to hear.

"Okay... How can you be so calm? I'm on the verge of freaking out here."

Stan smiled. "Mostly because I can't afford to freak out. My freak outs tend to be more severe than other people's. So I keep them under control."

"I'll take your word for it." Another radiating pain ran from the top of his head and down his back. "So...what now?"

"Well, let's see if we can think of why it is that we're both alive and these others are dead. I haven't seen a sign of life besides you. What had you been finding? I hadn't heard anything from Vance for a couple of days."

"Well, we couldn't find the five that were on leave. I actually think that they're missing. I don't think that they're just off the grid. I think they were abducted as well. Whoever these people are, they're using leave as a convenient way of changing things up."

"You're probably right. So that's possibly twenty dead sailors." He sighed. "Man...I hate seeing that kind of thing happening on my watch. I've never felt so much like I was watching from the sidelines."

"But I think that there might be something to the fact that all of them were listed as having vaccines."

"What do you mean?"

"I think it's a distinct possibility that they were being tested."

"You mean that you think someone is using members of the U.S. Navy as _guinea pigs_?" Stan was appalled.

"Think about it. What better way to run some kind of test than by putting it as what it is? Did you see any sign of an injection on them?"

"I didn't look. I just checked to see if they were alive."

"Maybe we should check now."

Stan nodded. He helped Tim to his feet. As they walked across the deck, the spasm hit Tim again. This time, it seemed to be more of a ripple of tension of all his muscles from his neck down to his legs. He staggered and Stan helped him again. A worrisome thought came into his mind but he kept it to himself until they had a chance to check one of the dead men.

"Here's one of them," Stan said.

Tim knelt down beside the body and they both started checking from head to toe. A sudden thought struck him.

"Ducky is going to kill us," Tim said with a smile.

Stan looked up and chuckled. "Touching the body before the M.E. I think he'll understand in the circumstances. He has others to look at first."

Tim laughed...but laughter faded away when they saw the injection site. On the right arm. Right where a vaccine would be administered in the fatty tissues.

Stan looked at Tim.

"Injection."

"Yeah. Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we should check ourselves."

Stan instantly followed what Tim was implying. He had a jacket on and he shucked it, rolled up his sleeves...and found an injection site. Tim did the same. ...with the same result.

"Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"What if...this pain I've been having...what if it's because of this?"

"You think it is?"

"I don't know, but I know that..." Another spasm. "This is not normal."

Stan's expression was more than worried now.

"What if this is a disease? We don't know what the injections were. We have no way of finding out, not here. You're not showing any symptoms, are you?"

Stan shook his head. "No. Nothing like that. I felt weird when I woke up, but that's mostly passed."

"Mostly?"

"I'm pretty hot."

"Me, too...but I don't know how much of that is because of the fact that I've been throwing up."

"A fever is the body's reaction to an invader. So...if we were both dosed, why is that my only symptom and why do you have others?"

"Maybe it's contagious," Tim said.

Stan shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You're not going to suggest that I isolate myself from you. If it's contagious, then I've already been contaminated. If not, then, we'd better just stick together and try to get this figured out."

"But if it is...we can't let anyone on board. We can't let it spread anywhere."

The spasm happened again. This time, felt as though something had grabbed hold of his spine and compressed it for just a moment. It was extremely painful, but more than that was the tension...and the fear that each repeated spasm brought.

"Stan..."

"Okay...what we need to do is find some way of contacting...anyone. If we really are the next guinea pigs on their list, chosen because we were getting somewhere in our investigation, we need to let someone know about it. We need to figure out just _what_ has been tested because it's not just us. It's Navy personnel, and we can't let that happen if there's any way that we can prevent it."

"Okay..." Tim took a breath and tried to calm himself down. Stan was right. They had a responsibility and a job to do, even if they _were_ marooned on this boat, alone. They had to _try_ to make some connection to the outside world. "How are you with electronics, communications...computers?"

"I can use them when they're working right. If they break, I call someone who knows _how_ to fix them."

Tim smiled. "That's more than Gibbs can say."

"Definitely," Stan said. "...and you know he'll be looking for us. No matter what, once he realizes that _you're_ gone. You're a member of his team."

"Yeah...as long as they haven't done the same thing they've tried already and put in some delays."

"True, but it would be hard to do that in _my_ case. I'm supposed to be on an aircraft carrier...at sea. And there are cameras."

"Cameras. You said the radio is out?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Maybe we can cobble something together." The prospect of _doing_ something, of accomplishing something made Tim's heart beat a little faster.

Then, out of nowhere, the spasm hit him again. It lasted a little longer than before and actually caused him to fall backward as his body tensed up. Stan was leaning over him in a second.

"Tim, you okay?"

"If we're going to do something...I think it had better be soon," Tim said. "...before I can't do anything at all. It's getting worse, even just in the last hour."

Tim was started to estimate the rate of progression, how long it would take to completely incapacitate him...and the number was frighteningly small. If these spasms continued to worsen as they had so far, it would only take a day or two before he'd be in big trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_One day earlier..._

"It feels like we're not getting _anywhere_," Tony said, pushing back from his desk in frustration. "All we've been able to find is that McGee is missing and so is Stan. We don't know who did it, how they did or why...beyond that it must be because of this secret investigation. ...and you know what? I don't like that McGee was good enough at hiding what he was doing that we didn't even _know_ he was doing anything."

"It was not illegal," Ziva said. "I can see that McGee would find it easy to hide something when it was a temporary thing and fully sanctioned. His problems are when he is doing something that is illegal in any way."

Tony grinned. "Yeah. If Vance starts asking the Probie to do something illegal, I think he'd spontaneously combust."

"True. I will check the BOLO. Again," Ziva said.

They had issued a BOLO on both Tim and Stan right off the bat, sent out a message to the carriers to be on the lookout as well.

So far. Nothing. It was like they had disappeared without a trace. Abby was trying to break through the block on the cameras in NCIS, but it looked as though the cameras on the carrier had been erased. They had tried taking up the search where Tim had left off, but, for whatever reason, Tim hadn't left any records of what he'd been doing.

Or at least, that's what they had assumed until Abby had pointed out that there was a huge issue with that theory. Tim had been working alone in the bullpen. The night crew hadn't seen Tim at all...and there was that period when the cameras had gone out. If whoever _they_ were had taken Tim from NCIS itself, they had done so without anyone seeing. Who was to say that _they_ hadn't taken the time to delete stuff from Tim's computer?

It was now late in the evening...and it felt like there had been no progress.

"Campfire," Tony said.

Ziva looked less than enthusiastic about it; so Tony called down to Autopsy and to Abby's lab.

"Campfire!"

"_I'm on my way! Don't start without me!"_ Abby answered eagerly.

Tony pulled his chair and then pulled Ziva away from her desk. She glared but didn't protest. It only took a few minutes for everyone to be there besides Gibbs who was up with Vance.

"Okay. So have we found _anything_?"

"Whoever did this must be very skilled," Ziva said. "They could not have hacked into NCIS without some good training, yes?"

"That's right," Abby said. "We can at least narrow down the time when they must have taken him. It was getting close to midnight. We know that he was working on this case and that there's nothing on his computer...anymore."

"I believe that there _must_ be a medical component. I have looked at the records and while I cannot decipher any kind of meaning in the labels given...I am stuck with the question of why they would bother listing a vaccine if it was not necessary...if they weren't worried about a needle stick being seen on these men."

"Why only men?" Jimmy asked. "If it _is_ some kind of experiment or something...why not both? Why only men?"

"Women only make up about fifteen percent of active duty Navy personnel," Ducky said. "Perhaps that is why. There simply are fewer of them to choose from."

"Or they're chauvinists," Abby said.

"Perhaps," Ducky said with a smile.

"So...is it a vaccine that they're testing out? Why? Why on Navy personnel, specifically? I thought that human testing was illegal."

"So is abduction, Tony," Ziva said. "They do not seem concerned with that."

"So then...if they don't care, why a vaccine? Is it really a vaccine or is it testing some kind of bio weapon? ...but then, again, why on Navy? There's got to be easier people to test than Navy personnel, whether it's a vaccine or a weapon. This seems like it's inviting trouble."

"That is true. I cannot answer that question," Ziva said.

"Nor can I," Ducky said. "But you do bring up a good point. It seems unlikely that a group, no matter their intentions would target and abduct active members of the U.S. Navy. Surely, they'd realize that these people would be missed. I think we can assume that Timothy and Stan were taken because of their investigation...but as for the rest?" He spread his hands in an admission of his ignorance.

"I have another to add," Jimmy said quietly.

"What's that, Mr. Palmer?"

"Are any of these people still alive?"

"Another good question. I think we need to assume that they are, simply because to assume otherwise is...unpleasant. The possibility of their deaths is there, but we'll focus on finding them alive."

"Okay. I'm fine with that," Jimmy said, nodding.

Ducky smiled, but at the same time, they all had the thought of Stan and Tim being dead in their minds. It seemed as though, as one, they chose to reject that idea. No. They would not find Stan and Tim dead. Even if the others had to be, Stan and Tim would _not_ be.

Gibbs came down.

"Go home," he said tersely. "It's after ten. Get here early tomorrow and we'll get back to work. No arguments."

He stared at them all until they started moving...with reluctance, yes, but they started moving. It was frustrating to make no progress when the stakes were so high, but even they could admit that there was merit to taking a break. Sleeping when they could, working the rest of the time.

Hoping that they'd find Tim and Stan before it was too late.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

The spasm lasted longer that time and left Tim gasping for breath. It was like his lungs would seize up with the rest of him. Stan helped Tim sit up again, but it was hard seeing this. He could tell that Tim was in a lot of pain with each event. They were looking through the electronics on the bridge but making little progress. Working by flashlight for what must have been hours but without any kind of time table to help them out.

Panting a little, Tim shook his head, wearily.

"No. There's nothing we can do up here, not without some kind of power source. That's not going to be up here. It'll be down."

"Are you sure you can make it down?" Stan asked. "One of those...seizures or whatever...you could fall down the ladder."

Tim smiled wanly. "I'll let you go down first and be ready to break my fall. We can't do anything else right now."

"Maybe we should take a break."

Tim shook his head. "No. Every single one of these is worse than the last one was. I'm afraid that any delay..." He trailed off.

There it was, the big elephant in the room. Tim could die. It didn't take much to extrapolate and get that result. They both had the low-grade fevers, but only Tim had the seizures, and if the seizures continued to lengthen, and if they continued to make breathing difficult, then, Tim could asphyxiate during a long one.

"Do you think that you can do anything?"

"I won't know until I look. They had to have had some kind of power to get the boat..._ship_...out here in the middle of the ocean, wherever we are. Now, maybe they towed it, but I think that would attract more attention than two ships making a run."

Stan nodded in agreement. "So if it was traveling under its own steam, they might still have some juice in the batteries."

"And if we can hook it up, access it, we might be able to channel it up here to make contact."

"Okay. I _will_ go first, and if you fall...I'll catch you."

"I know. I don't doubt it." Tim got up and paused at the entrance to the bridge. "It's like a dream, isn't it? This whole thing, it has a...strange...fuzzy quality to it, like we're seeing a mirage."

"Yeah. It does." It wasn't an idle agreement on Stan's side. He did feel that way, although he figured it was probably related to the fever.

They headed below deck.

...and Tim had another spasm just as they reached their desired level. The seizures only lasted for a few seconds, but they were the longest seconds ever, especially now. Every one seemed to pulled Tim up short, his back arching in pain. Tim's whole face would seize up in a rictus, the tendons in his neck sticking out with the strain his body was under.

Stan caught him and was shocked by how stiff Tim's body was. It was almost like it was frozen, just for a few seconds.

A few seconds that were increasing every time.

Tim wilted after the tension eased. Besides being painful, Stan could see that the seizures were also exhausting. How long Tim could keep this up...Stan didn't know. He just hoped it was long enough.

Stan eased Tim to the floor as he gasped for breath.

"What could be causing this?" Tim asked.

"I have no idea," Stan admitted, although he hated to. "This is nothing like I've ever seen."

"Great. I guess...we should get to work."

"Yeah." What Stan _wanted_ to say was that Tim should take a break, recharge...but there was no recharging. Tim was going to be like this and worse. ...and worse. He let out a whoosh of air and stared at the ceiling.

...no...not at the ceiling.

...at the camera. The camera that had just moved. Just a little bit.

"Tim."

"What?" Tim asked.

"What if the cameras _were_ working?"

"What _if_?"

"What if I'd just seen the camera move."

"Controlled...remotely?"

"Yeah."

Tim sat up and looked at Stan, his eyes lighting up a little.

"Remote access...that means that there _is_ power here. It also means that we stand a chance of getting contact off the ship. That means that..."

Another seizure hit him hard, jerking him backward as his back arched and his body seized up yet again.

Ten seconds that time. Tim couldn't hold back the tears as he breathed heavily when he finally could breathe at all.

"That hurt," he said and tried to laugh. "That really hurt."

Stan could tell. He tried to think of something bracing to say, but in the end, did it matter? Probably not.

"You ready to see what we can find?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

They headed in to try and coax some power out of the ship's batteries in the hopes of being able to make contact. The cameras went off, or at least they were off when Tim and Stan investigated them. They worked for hours. While Stan couldn't help with the wiring, he became the gofer. He got a supply of water and made sure Tim had something to drink...while it lasted. He hadn't seen any sign of food which was bad news because they were both running out of energy and that wasn't going to be replenished in any way.

He helped Tim by shining the flashlight where he was told. In general, he felt rather extraneous, but he knew that he had to do what he could. That was all. The only times he didn't feel extraneous were those when he felt completely helpless. ...when Tim would seize up and then collapse. Finally, after more hours in the darkness of the lower decks than they could count, Tim's body said in no uncertain terms that it was done for now.

Tim had three of the seizures in a row and the strain of them left him unconscious. Stan thought about trying to wake Tim up but then decided that there wasn't any point. Tim needed rest. He needed a _lot_ of other things, too, but he needed rest. Even if the cause of the seizures was whatever drug that was pumping through their veins, Stan was sure that the exertions weren't helping. He dashed up to the medical department, grabbed the meager bedding and carried it down to where Tim lay.

Even while unconscious, his body would seize; so Stan moved him gently and made sure that the blanket was loosely draped over him.

Then, he turned out the flashlight to save the battery and lay back on the hard metal floor himself. He stared up into the darkness and started to really think about what chance they had of getting out of here.

Everything depended on whether or not Tim could get the radio or _something_ working. If they could contact someone, a passing ship (hopefully not one belonging to their captors), they could get help. ...but Tim's point about the possibility of infection was well-taken. They definitely couldn't inflict this kind of thing on the rest of the world...the modern equivalent of the plague ships from the Middle Ages, although if this was a plague, it was the strangest one _he'd_ ever seen.

The sound of another seizure striking his unconscious companion drew Stan's attention away from the darkness. He turned on the flashlight and looked at Tim, catching the end of the spasm as his body relaxed.

No matter how he looked at it, this was bad. Tim knew it was bad. Stan knew it was bad.

There were twelve bodies on this ship pointing to just _how_ bad this was.

After a while, Stan's own exhaustion pulled him into sleep as well, a restless, fevered sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"_They might do it."_

"_It's probably too late by now anyway."_

"_I don't care. If they can get a signal out, we have another problem."_

"_We could go over there and just kill them."_

"_That would take too long. Besides, I want to see this play out fully."_

"_Why? It's another failure. We'll just have to take a step back and try again."_

"_No. We go all the way. Find a way to delay even if they get through."_

"_Will do. There's another problem."_

"_Take care of it. That's an older protocol."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Stay right where you are and we will come to you," Ziva said and hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" Tony asked. "McGee, telling us that it was all a big joke?"

Ziva shook her head. "No. It was from a man who claimed to be one of the sailors we have been looking for. He seemed nervous."

"All right. Let's go!"

They grabbed their bags and hurried out. Tony called Gibbs as they got in the car and let him know where they were going.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_I'm sorry, Gibbs. I can't see any sign of...anything,"_ Agent Lovitz said. Because there were two agents missing, Gibbs had elected to keep his team on land while Lovitz and his team went to the _Nimitz_ to see if they could find anything.

"Nothing at all, Agent Lovitz?" Vance asked.

"_No. I really wish I could, but the only evidence of foul play is the fact that Agent Burley isn't here. No fingerprints. No sign of a struggle. ...and you already knew that the cameras had gone out. I've got Geri and Andrew doing interviews of the men on duty during that hour, but no one can remember seeing Agent Burley at all. One said that Agent Burley would often come by and chat with him for a minute or two in the evenings, but since he'd been so busy the last few days, he wasn't surprised that he didn't the night he disappeared."_

"Great."

"_They like Agent Burley out here, Gibbs. They want to find him. No one has been unhelpful at all. If anything, they're all trying to help so much that we can hardly walk without running into someone asking if there's anything they can do. ...and I'd stake my life on them all being sincere."_

Gibbs nodded.

"Okay. If you find anything..."

"_You'll be the first to know,"_ Lovitz said. _"I hope you find them."_

"Me, too."

"Director..."

Vance and Gibbs looked over to one of the technicians. He was looking surprised and a little confused.

"What is it, Mr. Park?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay..." Tim said, his hands visibly shaking with exhaustion. "If this doesn't work...nothing will. We need to get up to the bridge and try it out."

Stan nodded. "You going to make it up there?"

Tim's smile was more than a little tremulous. "I can't stay down here."

And another seizure hit him. It lasted for nearly twenty seconds. Tim's entire body went stiff and his back arched in reaction to whatever it was causing this. By now, they had almost a rhythm in dealing with the seizures when they came. Stan supported Tim, kept him from injuring himself by running into things and waited. After the seizure ended, Tim would take a few minutes to recover...and then, they'd get back to work. They had stopped talking about it. There was nothing they could do about it; so they just dealt with it, although each seizure took more and more out of Tim.

"You sure you're going to make it?" Stan asked.

"I can't stay down here," Tim said again. "I'll go up first. You can catch me."

Stan nodded.

They started the slow climb up. Tim had another seizure midway to the main deck. Stan caught him. They waited for a few minutes and then made it up to the deck. ...where Tim had another seizure. After it was over, Tim was limp, unable to hold back the tears or the shaking. For the first time, he flagged in the face of what was happening.

"Even if this works, Stan," Tim said softly, "I don't think that..."

Stan wasn't having it. "Hey. Don't make me Gibbs slap you. I'm not accepting the possibility of you not making it. We're working together and you _will_ make it."

"Even if we contact them, we can't make physical contact until we know if whatever this is...is catching. I'm not going to take responsibility for putting anyone else through this."

"I don't care. You're still not giving up. I'm not letting you give up. We have made it too far for you to give up now. Once we get in there, we'll get you settled and you're not moving until we get off the ship. All the moving around is what's probably making things worse. But you are _not_ giving up. I am _not_ letting you give up. We're working together here. Let me do the leg work now."

Tim seemed to be steeling himself. Stan wasn't sure what for.

"I'm scared, Stan," Tim said, finally. "I don't want to die like this. ...I don't want to die at all, but not like this."

He pursed his lips and stared out at the open ocean. Stan got the feeling that Tim was trying not to cry. He squeezed Tim's shoulder.

"You won't. I promise."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can. If Gibbs can order people not to die, then, I can promise that you won't. I'm not giving an order. I'm just stating what reality is. You wouldn't want to fight against reality, would you?"

To Stan's relief, Tim smiled a little.

"I fight against reality every day."

Stan bent over and physically lifted Tim off the deck. Tim started to walk.

"No. I told you. I'm doing the leg work. You just let me do it. What do you mean you fight against reality every day?" Stan asked, trying to ignore how worn out he himself felt. The fever hadn't abated and Stan was running out of energy himself, just not as quickly as Tim was. They had long since run out of water and Stan had given Tim most of it.

"You haven't figured it out?" Tim asked breathlessly.

"Nope. Enlighten me."

"I'm a computer geek, trying to pass myself off as a federal agent. Someone like me...in reality...should be sitting in front of a computer all day. I still do a lot of that, but I'm pretending that I'm actually a field agent. Reality says one thing...I say another."

"Could have fooled me."

"Yeah. See how good I am?" Tim said with a laugh. "I have most people fooled. When we go out and interview people...they can see it. I get pegged as a technogeek all the time. It's just the people I work with who haven't figured it out."

"Maybe _you_ haven't figured it out."

"What?"

"That you're living reality. You're not fighting it. You've just reshaped it."

They got to the bridge. Stan helped Tim over to the communications console and eased him into the chair.

"Moment of truth, Tim," Stan said.

Tim looked more than a little apprehensive.

"You know it'll work. Reshape reality again."

"You make it sound so grandiose."

"Sure! That's what makes it good. You've got to have a good story."

"Right. For now...I'd settle for being able to connect."

"With whom?"

"MTAC."

"How are you going to do that? Are you telling me that you have the access codes?"

Tim's smile was the first real one Stan had seen.

"How in the world did you–?"

"I...reshaped reality."

Stan laughed, feeling almost giddy. They might actually succeed here.

"Well, reshape it again and let's see who's on duty."

Tim took a deep breath and started the process of rebooting the console. This was where they would find out if they had a real hope of rescue.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Are you sure?" Vance asked.

"Positive."

"And you don't know who it is?"

"No, sir."

Vance looked at Gibbs who just shrugged.

"Okay. Put it through."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony and Ziva pulled up outside a cabin. There was no car, just a bike.

"Ensign Wallace!" Ziva called out. "Ensign Wallace! It is Agent David from NCIS!"

It was eerily silent. Tony looked at Ziva and pulled out his gun.

"Ensign Wallace!" he called.

They walked to the door and knocked.

No response.

"I do not like this," Ziva said.

"I don't either."

Ziva looked in the window.

"I see a body."

"Okay. We go in," Tony said. "On three."

"One...two...three..."

Tony kicked in the door. They started to go in, but he stopped.

"No. Out! Out!"

He pushed Ziva back out the door. She resisted only for a moment and then followed his lead. They ran.

Just in time.

The cabin exploded. Tony and Ziva dove for the ground behind the car.

They got to their feet, brushing dirt off their clothes. They stared at each other and then stared at the burning cabin, breathing heavily.

"Wow," Tony said. "I guess there was something to this."

"Yes. It would appear to be the case."

"Uh...I'll call it in."

Tony got into the car and called Gibbs.

"Boss, we've got a problem."

"_Tony, get back here."_

"Boss, there's currently a raging inferno where there used to be a cabin!"

"_Wallace?"_

"He was dead inside."

"_Okay. Get the local LEOs over."_

"You're not coming out here? We'll need Ducky!"

"_We need him here for the moment. Call the fire department, get them to get the fire under control and then hold the fort. I'll send Ducky out when I can."_

"What's going on, Boss?"

"_I'll tell you when you get back."_

Gibbs hung up.

"Something's up back there, but we're supposed to do what we can," he said.

"I called the fire department. They are sending a truck."

"Good. I guess we wait."

"What do you think he knew?"

"I don't know...but he must have known _something_. I can't imagine that he'd be killed like this for nothing."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Hey, Boss," _Stan said.

His voice was out of sync with the picture and there was more than a little static, but just seeing him alive was a relief.

"Stan! Where are you?" Gibbs asked.

Stan was pale and sweaty. He looked like he'd seen better days.

"_Wish I could tell you, Boss," _he said._ "We're on a ship in the middle of the ocean."_

"We?"

"_Yeah. Tim's here, too. You've got to find us, Gibbs," _Stan said. _"Soon."_

"Why?"

"_Because...Tim's dying."_

"Of what?"

"_I wish I could tell you that, too. We have no idea. He...didn't want you to see him like he is right now. He's lying on the floor."_

"Get him up here."

Stan turned away from the screen and looked down.

"_You heard him, Tim."_

A hand appeared from out of the shot and Stan turned to pull Tim up. It was apparently an effort and Stan seemed to be doing all the work. Gibbs felt ill when he saw Tim. It wasn't that there was gore or limbs missing. It was that Tim's face was nearly white. He was shaking and clearly had almost no energy of his own.

"_Hi, Boss,"_ he said weakly.

"_Here he is."_

"What happened, Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"_We were injected with something,"_ Tim said. _"Both of us, but Stan hasn't had what I've had. You can't come and get us, not until we can figure out if this is..."_

Then, Gibbs saw what had caused Tim's appearance. He flung himself backward, his back arching as his body stiffened. Then, Stan caught him and they were both out of the shot.

"Stan! Stan!"

Nothing for a little while. Then, Stan was back. He didn't say anything. His eyes said enough. As garbled as the picture was, the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

"_Get us out of here, Boss...before..."_

Gibbs turned to the technicians.

"You can track this signal, can't you?"

"We...we _should_, but we can't. Not yet."

"Why not?"

They brought up an image on one of the screens. It showed map of the Atlantic...with about twenty different points demarcated.

"What's that?"

"That's the trace. Something is garbling the signal, duplicating it. It's like there are twenty of those ships out there. Only one is real."

"_Like a mirage,"_ Stan said quietly. _"There's one that I've seen on the ocean before. It's called..._fata morgana_. There's really a ship out there, but it's been distorted, changed, duplicated. It's so complex that it never looks the same. ...and you can't even tell what it really is."_ He laughed a little and stared off into the distance. _"This whole thing...maybe it's _all_ a mirage. Maybe we're just distorted images of reality."_ Then, he shook himself, visibly pulling himself back together. _"Boss, this is going to kill him. I don't know how much longer he has, but it probably can't be measured in days. Tim needs help. There's nothing I can do."_

"We'll figure it out, Stan. I promise. For now, I'm going to get Ducky up here. You're going to tell him what the symptoms are and everything you know about it."

"_Ducky's smart, Gibbs, but..."_

"Give yourself a head slap, Stan. I'm not interested," Gibbs said.

"_I heard that, Stan. Want me to do it?"_

The faint voice coming from out of the shot was as comforting as it was painful.

"_Save it for later, Tim. Just relax."_

"_Right. Relax."_

Gibbs got the call from Tony and disconnected as soon as he could.

"What was that?" Vance asked quietly.

"Our one lead just got blown up in a cabin."

"DiNozzo and David?"

"They're fine."

"Okay. I'm going to see about calling in some big guns to get rid of this distortion. I don't think we should disconnect, just in case the signal is lost. Agent Burley doesn't look a whole lot better than Agent McGee. I'll see what I can do to expedite things."

"Thanks, Leon."

"They're my people, too, Gibbs," Vance said and strode out of MTAC.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Stan's attention was divided between Gibbs on the screen and Tim on the floor. His brain wasn't functioning at peak capacity. He could tell that much because he could just feel how slow he was, and his memory told him that he usually wasn't like this. It was taking a _lot_ of concentration just to keep on topic. He was hot, uncomfortable and very anxious.

"_Stan? You with me?"_

Stan tried to focus on the screen again.

"Yeah, Boss. Sorry. I know that..."

"_No apologies, Stan. Just tell me what you can. Start from the beginning while we're waiting for Ducky to get here."_

"Right. Okay. Well...I can't tell you how I got here. I don't remember. I don't remember being knocked out or anything really. I just woke up here on deck...along with some dead bodies. Those guys that...that we were investigating."

"_How many?"_

"Twelve here. Who knows if there were more. I sure don't. I checked them. They were all dead when I woke up. How long? I don't know. I looked around the ship and..."

"_What kind of ship is it?"_

"It's a _Kilauea_-class. There were only a few of them and I know that they're being phased out, but...I can't tell you which one we're on."

Stan saw Gibbs gesturing to someone off the screen.

"_Go on."_

"I looked around, found Tim...and then when he woke up, we checked one of the bodies and found an injection site. Tim suggested that we check ourselves." Stan rolled up his sleeve and showed the place where he'd been injected. "We both have it. Same place. ...oh, and someone is or was watching us here."

"_What?"_

"The cameras are active. I saw them moving. So someone has been watching us." Stan felt dully angry. He didn't have the energy for more.

Gibbs looked off screen again.

"_Stan, Ducky is here."_

Ducky came in view.

"_Oh, Stan. You've looked better."_

Stan found the ability to smile. "I've felt better."

"_I wish I could help you, but I hope that you can help us while we search for a way to narrow down your exact location."_

"What do you need me to do?"

"_I suppose it would be too much to hope that there are supplies on board?"_

Stan laughed. "Right. I was lucky to find the stale water...and that's gone."

"_Very well. We can't do anything about that. Can you–?"_

Tim had yet another seizure. Stan forgot about Ducky and focused on Tim. The seizure seemed to last forever. Even though Tim had been lying flat on his back, once the seizure began, his back arched. His legs stretched out at unnatural angles and his hands clenched into fists while his arms curled against his torso. When it ended, Tim wasn't breathing. Stan swore and knelt down beside Tim. His heart was still beating, but he wasn't breathing. Quickly, Stan started mouth-to-mouth respiration. He tilted Tim's head back and exhaled into Tim's mouth. He kept it up for another eternity until finally, Tim took a breath on his own. Stan stopped and waited. Another inhalation. Another exhalation. Stan leaned back against the console in relief and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

A tug at his pants drew his attention back to his companion. Tim's eyes opened slightly and he just mouthed _thank you_ before turning his own gaze to the ceiling.

Stan nodded and dragged himself back to the console. Ducky was still there, looking very worried.

"I'm back, Ducky."

"_Timothy?"_

"He'd stopped breathing after the seizure."

"_I see. Describe these seizures to me. Were they of a sudden onset?"_

"From what I can tell...they started just as aches in his neck and his back. But they started to get worse really fast and they've been getting worse and longer."

"_What happens? Does he lose consciousness?"_

"No. He's awake during the seizures, although he's conked out a couple of times after."

"_And what exactly happens?"_

"His body just completely tenses up. It's like all his muscles go stiff at once. Lately, he hasn't even been able to breathe during the seizures. This last one...he couldn't breathe after, either. Ducky, these keep getting worse. There's nothing I can do for him."

"_You're doing what you can, and that's important. Just focus on that. So the seizures are getting progressively worse. They do _not_ involve a loss of consciousness and these seizures are in the form of muscle spasms spread over his entire body. Does that include his face as well?"_

"His face?"

"_Humor me."_

"Yeah, they do," Stan said. "His teeth clench. I think you'd called it a rictus."

Ducky smiled. _"That is a very vivid image, yes. Thank you. Has Timothy suffered from any kind of puncture wound?"_

"You mean besides getting an injection in his arm?" Stan asked.

"_Yes, besides that,"_ Ducky said seriously.

"Not that I know of."

"_Would you check, please?"_

"Why, Ducky?"

"_Just do it, Stan,"_ Gibbs said.

Stan nodded and knelt down.

"Tim, you heard?"

Tim nodded silently.

"Can you think of anything like that?"

He shook his head.

"Do you mind if I check?"

Another head shake. It felt strange, but Stan did as he had been told. He was careful moving Tim around, just in case he triggered another seizure for whatever reason. Whatever it was that Ducky was thinking, Stan found nothing beyond the needle stick in his arm. He pulled himself back into the chair and shook his head.

"Nothing, Ducky."

"_You're sure?"_

"Yeah. Why?"

"_Because Timothy's symptoms are similar to, although not exactly, like those of tetanus."_

"Tetanus? You mean like if you step on a rusty nail? Come on, Ducky."

"_I am not saying that is what Timothy is suffering from since there seems to be no cause...unless he was injected with the toxin. Are there any other symptoms?"_

"We both have a fever. Tim isn't breathing regularly, but that could be because of the seizures as much as anything."

"_You have a fever as well?"_

"Yeah. It's not bad, but I feel wiped out by it."

Ducky smiled encouragingly. Stan wiped his face and looked back at Tim.

"Man, I'm tired," he said and dropped his head to the console.

"_Stan? Stan! Stan, stay awake, please!"_

Stan lifted his head, rather reluctantly.

"Sorry, Ducky."

"_It's all right, but as long as you can, it would be best if you would stay awake, just so that we can keep tabs on what is happening there."_

"I can tell you what's happening. The boat doesn't work. We're adrift. I'm tired. I'm hot. Tim is dying. What more do you need to know?"

"_This is not your usual optimistic attitude, Agent Burley,"_ Ducky said.

"Sorry. It's too hard right now."

"_I understand. Don't feel as though you have to pretend for me."_

"Good. I don't know if I could."

"_Don't bother,"_ Gibbs said. _"What's the weather like, Stan?"_

"Huh?"

"_The weather. What it's like?"_

Stan took a breath and looked outside. There was an evening cast to the sky. The sun was still up, but it was getting lower. He walked to the door and looked at the clear sky above, the billowing clouds in the distance. Clouds...off to the east. There was a chill in the air, although it wasn't unpleasant. He walked back and sat down.

"It looks like there could be a storm coming in from the east. It's clear overhead. Sun is heading to the west. I guess it's evening...nearly. It's not hot...or it wouldn't be if I didn't have a fever. So I guess we're in northern waters."

"_A storm?"_

"Yeah. I think so. Clouds in the east. Good indication. It's deep water we're in."

"_Stan?"_

"Yeah, Boss?"

"_You hang on. I won't leave my men behind."_

Stan smiled, but no matter what he'd said to Tim, there was little hope behind it. With how quickly Tim was worsening, he just didn't see how anyone would find them in time for it to matter. He wouldn't say it aloud, but he was just counting down the time until Tim died...because he, Stan, had dragged him into this investigation and now couldn't do anything to help.

Suddenly, he felt like the room was caving in on him. He had to get outside and take a few deep breaths. He got up from the console and knelt beside Tim.

"I'm just stepping out for a second. I'll be back, Tim. Okay?"

Tim nodded.

Stan started to get up, but Tim suddenly reached up and took hold of Stan's arm.

"Thanks...Stan," he whispered.

Stan didn't bother asking him to elaborate. Why waste his breath on that? He just smiled and stepped out into the cool air. He breathed in and out, forcing himself to take slow even breaths. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart now. Tim couldn't help him if he did, and if Tim had another seizure like the last one, he would need Stan to keep it together and help him. As foggy as his brain was right now, as weary as he felt, Stan just focused on breathing for a few seconds so that he could keep himself in control for as long as was necessary.

He was afraid that he'd lied to Tim and that there was nothing they'd be able to do to save him. ...and he'd be forced to watch Tim die and then be the only one alive on the ship.

"Like _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_," he said softly. "All the men dead and me with the albatross around my neck."

Then, he heard the strange sounds that Tim made when he was having a seizure. He hurried onto the bridge, just hoping that Tim would keep breathing this time.

For a wonder, Tim did. He looked barely alive, but he was breathing.

Stan stayed sitting on the floor and he buried his head in his hands, ignoring the voices from the screen.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Stan!" Ducky said again.

"Leave him, Duck," Gibbs said softly. "Nothing we say is going to help right now. Just leave him. ...and tell me what you can tell me."

"Well...not much, I'm afraid. The fact that both men have fevers tells me that they were definitely given _something_ which their bodies are treating as an invader. Why it is that Stan has only the fever and Timothy has these horrid symptoms similar to tetanus? I can't say. ...unless..." Ducky trailed off and started to think.

"Ducky!"

"Unless one of them was to serve as the control and the other as the variable."

"Control for what?"

"Medication, of course. What particular medication and why it's being tested this way...I don't know, but clinical trials are often performed with different phases. The first phase is a very small group...about twenty individuals, used in order to determine its safety, its dosage and what side effects there may be."

"I think death might be a problem, Duck!" Gibbs said angrily.

"I'm not excusing these people, Jethro. They have violated numerous codes, not least of which is the Hippocratic Oath. I'm telling you that it makes sense that this might be a twisted version of a drug trial. What drug, what they think they're treating, and why they've done it this way...I don't know. But it _would_ explain why Stan has no symptoms beyond a fever and Timothy is..."

"Dying," Gibbs finished. "Is he really?"

There was a muffled whimper off to the side. Gibbs ignored it.

"Given Stan's reaction and the apparent frequency of the seizures? Yes. I would say that he is and that he _will_ if we cannot track down where they are. Even with tetanus, which _can_ be cured, significant medical measures are necessary if it is severe. People do die of tetanus without treatment. ...and since I'm assuming that Timothy has kept his vaccinations up to date, it seems unlikely that it _is_ tetanus, in spite of the commonalities."

"Gibbs!"

Gibbs looked over. Abby's face was pale and she was clearly nearly at her wit's end, trying to keep quiet as she worked with the technicians in trying to pinpoint the location of the ship. He had brought her up but had restricted her to working only. She was not allowed to distract Tim and Stan with her usual drama. She'd done quite well and now, she was gesturing frantically to get his attention.

He hurried over.

"I think we might know what to do," she said. "What Stan said...about mirages. It got me thinking. That fata morgana thing he was talking about. It's a specific type of mirage where the distortion actually causes the object to be reflected and refracted lots of times. ...like we're getting here. So we've been focusing in on it multiple times from different angles and the dots are different."

"But there are a few that always are there," Kevin Park said. "We're running a program that should filter out all the extraneous ones and leave the most frequent ones. The real one has to be there because that's the signal we're tracking. They can't get rid of it completely without shutting down the connection...and since we still have it..."

"Right. Do it."

Kevin started typing and shifted the image of the seemingly-empty bridge to one of the side monitors. The main screen had an image of the northern Atlantic Ocean. There were hundreds of dots scattered all over it. For a moment, Gibbs felt nothing but dread. How could they possibly get through all this?

...but even as he thought it, the dots were getting stripped away. Slowly, dots began to disappear as the program filtered them out.

Then, the door to MTAC crashed open and Tony and Ziva ran into the room.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

Gibbs just glared at them. He knew they were worried, but he didn't want to have anyone getting too excited. It really did seem that any kind of exertion triggered the seizures. Ducky grabbed them both and was quickly whispering the situation to them. It was to their credit that they stayed quiet.

The program removed dot after dot. It was engrossing in a way. Gibbs wanted to tell them to hurry it up, but he figured that they were going as fast as they could and he wouldn't help matters by getting irritated. He wanted to help his people, but he had to give way to what was possible.

Finally, there was a small cluster of dots, all in the same basic area, well off the North Atlantic shipping lanes. None were in exactly the same spot. ...as if the target was adrift.

"Yes!" Abby shouted as she jumped out of her chair.

Gibbs was out of MTAC almost before she could finish her celebration. He charged by Pamela and into Vance's office.

"We've found them. We need to get something out there," he said.

Vance was on the phone. He stood up, still talking.

"Leon!"

"Quiet!" Vance said. "Yes, be ready in ten minutes at the most." He hung up.

"We know where they are. You need to..."

"If you will stop trying to run roughshod over me at every moment, Agent Gibbs, I could let _you_ know what I need to do."

Gibbs stopped, biting his tongue.

"I have called in multiple favors. You don't care how many and as soon as I know where to send them, there will be a helicopter on its way."

"From where?"

"From wherever I need it to be. You have no idea what I've been doing," Vance said. He smiled. "Shall we?"

Gibbs considered asking how Vance had done it, but then decided that he really _didn't_ care at the moment. He might later, but not right now.

They went into MTAC and Vance got a look at the cluster of dots.

"Dr. Mallard," he said.

"Yes, Director Vance?"

"In your opinion, is medical quarantine necessary?"

"Probably not, but it would be irresponsible not to go in prepared for just such a thing."

"All right." Vance turned to the technicians. "I am well-informed that the HMS _Illustrious_ is currently in that area, conducting some drills...well within helicopter range. Call them up, please."

In spite of himself, Gibbs was impressed, particularly when the delay between the request for contact and the skipper himself showing up on the screen was less than a minute.

"_Director Vance. I'm Captain Joseph Poynter. I understand that you are needing our help?"_

"Yes. I'm sending the coordinates. I have two men who are in need of medical attention. One is in extremely dire straits. We don't think that there's necessarily a need for it but we're recommending medical quarantine until we can ascertain the cause."

Capt. Poynter nodded.

"_What treatment will be necessary?"_

"Dr. Mallard?"

Ducky stepped forward. "Standard treatment for tetanus, minus the antitoxin. Oxygen supplement. Both men are likely dehydrated and have not eaten for days."

"We'll be transferring them to Bethesda near DC as soon as possible, but they need help right away and you're closest," Vance said.

"_Understood. I'll pass the word along to our doctor. I'll keep you informed."_

"Thank you."

"_It's the law of the sea, Director. Help out a fellow sailor in need. I'll expect to get the full story as payment."_

He smiled and disconnected. Vance gestured for the other screen to take its place.

"Agent Burley!"

"He hasn't responded in quite some time," Ducky murmured.

"Agent Burley! Help is on the way to you. An hour or two more at the most."

There was a period of silence and then Stan got up into view again. Whatever he'd been doing out of sight, he managed to dredge up a smile.

"_Sounds like a dream, Director."_

"It's real, Agent Burley. I promise. A helicopter from the HMS _Illustrious_ is on its way. They're going to be using medical quarantine, but they're ready."

"_You think so?"_ Stan was clearly at the end of his rope. He just couldn't even pretend to have hope. _"Tim is unconscious. He's had three seizures since the last time Ducky talked to me. Three. I've had to help him breathe twice. I don't know if he has an hour. I really don't know."_

Stan shook his head and dropped his head to the tabletop.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Stan thought he must have fallen asleep because suddenly, he was hearing a lot of noise. It took him some time to figure out whether it was coming from outside or from the screen.

...and then, it dawned on him that it was both. There were words inside and roaring noises outside.

"_Stan! Wake up! Can you hear it?"_

"_Stan! Please, Stan!"_

Stan tried to think clearly. It was really hard.

"Abby?" There was no mistaking her voice.

"_Stan! Please?"_

"_Stan, the helicopter should be right outside. Can you hear it?"_

Stan suddenly realized that, if he'd been asleep, Tim could be dead. He had told Tim he'd have his back and he had fallen asleep! He turn around and knelt beside Tim. He was still. His skin was pale. His eyes were closed. Stan had a moment of total panic. He had let someone else die! He touched Tim's shoulder.

Tim's eyes fluttered open. He looked at Stan and smiled a little. His breathing was irregular and shallow and he moved very little, but he was still alive. Finally, the sounds outside the bridge penetrated his consciousness. An engine! Rotors!

"It looks like they're here, Tim. I told you that you'd make it."

Tim raised an eyebrow, managing to convey skepticism, even in his current state.

"I did! You know I did," he said, smiling. "I'll go wave them up."

Stan got to his feet and started to walk over, but then, Tim had yet another seizure. This one, as had been the trend, was longer than the last...and Tim, again, was not breathing after it ended. Stan forgot about the sounds outside the bridge. He started mouth-to-mouth again. They were too close to rescue. Tim _couldn't_ die now!

Footsteps, running up the metal steps, registered vaguely, but until someone grabbed him and pulled him aside, gently but firmly, he really didn't notice them.

Then there were people in quarantine suits bending over Tim and working on him.

"Who are you?" Stan asked.

One of them turned around and she stuck out a gloved hand.

"I'm Surgeon Lieutenant Seton from the HMS _Illustrious_. This is my assistant Petty Officer Davies. You must be Agent Burley and the other is Agent McGee."

Stan nodded, breathless and dizzy.

"Good. Let me attend to your friend here and then we'll deal with you."

Another nod.

"Can he make it back to the _Illustrious_, ma'am?" Davies asked.

Lt. Seton's expression was grave. Stan could see it even through the mask.

"We'll do our best. Keep him on oxygen. We'll put him on diazepam right now and..."

Tim interrupted them with another seizure. Stan started moving to help. It was an automatic reaction by now, but Lt. Seton held him back.

"Let us do our job, Agent Burley. We'll take care of him."

Stan didn't want to sit and wait. He wanted to help. He had promised Tim he would, but he tried to do what he'd been told...although a part of him wondered if this was all an illusion, that he'd suddenly wake up and realize that it had all been a dream...and Tim was dying because he wasn't doing anything. It was hard to keep his mind straight. He'd given the last of the water to Tim hours ago, maybe even days for all he knew, and it felt like he was in the middle of a desert, as parched as his throat was.

They got Tim stabilized and Lt. Seton gave him diazepam. They put him on oxygen and strapped him to a stretcher.

"Mr. Davies, please go and get one of the crew to help you carry Agent McGee back to the helicopter whilst I tend to Agent Burley."

"Yes, ma'am."

Lt. Seton smiled as he turned to Stan.

"Now, Agent Burley, let's take a look at you."

"I just have a fever. That's all," Stan said.

"Must be a doozy with how you look."

"That bad?" Stan asked with a weak smile.

"Worse," Lt. Seton said, grinning. "Don't you worry. We'll get you both taken care of. We're to take you to the _Illustrious_ and arrange transport to one of your hospitals."

"Are we that close? I don't know where I am."

"You're in the North Atlantic. Away from normal passages but we were conducting some special drills which took us off the beaten path, so to speak."

All the while Lt. Seton was talking, she was also checking Stan's vital signs.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Don't know. I don't even know how long I've been here."

"All right. A long time. How long since you had anything to drink?"

"At least a day, probably more. There wasn't much here."

"Of course. Well, I don't like the look of you, Agent Burley, but I think it'll improve quite a bit with some food and water...and _rest_."

Stan smiled a little.

"Sounds good to me. I don't have to be in charge?"

"Not at all. In fact, you _can't_ be. You're out of your jurisdiction."

Stan laughed and let Lt. Seton support him out to the helicopter. It was strange, leaning on a woman who looked like she was in a Teletubby costume, but he was so grateful for the relief that he didn't complain. He did pause as they were leaving.

"Boss?" he said toward the screen.

"_Don't worry, Stan. We know where you're going and who you're with. We'll see you both as soon as we can."_

Stan nodded and left the bridge.

He had never felt so happy to leave a ship in his life.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"They're off," Ducky said with relief.

"But what about whatever is wrong with them?" Abby asked. "We still have no idea what it is or who did it!"

"But now we have the chance to find out," Ducky said firmly. "We can help them as we could not before. They'll be here within twenty-four hours so long as they are able to stabilize Timothy enough for the trip."

"How long will that take, Ducky?" Tony asked. "I can't believe how bad they looked. Both of them!"

"I couldn't even venture to say, but if Timothy's symptoms truly are as similar to tetanus as they seem, they will be able to take steps...although some may be drastic at this point."

"How drastic?" Ziva asked.

"With Timothy's difficulty in breathing, I would not be surprised if they performed a tracheotomy and hooked him to an artificial respirator."

"Tracheotomy? You mean like...cutting a hole in his throat?" Tony asked. "Why?"

"Because his seizures cause his entire face to tense up, _and _because it will bypass muscles in the throat that could possibly become paralyzed during his seizures. If they do go that route, Timothy will be sedated. He would be given sedation in any case, but there would be another reason for it...and the sedation could be of long duration."

"And he could still be okay after all that?" Abby asked.

"Yes. He could. So long as _we_ can figure out what is causing his reaction and can also find the way to cure it."

"That's a tall order."

"But we will do it. These people have shown that they deserve no mercy," Ziva said, her eyes hardening. "I, for one, will not hesitate to agree with what they have shown."

"For now, we're going to focus on getting Tim and Stan back here," Gibbs said.

"And then, you'll all follow the _law_ while you track down the people who have done this," Vance interjected sternly. "I've already arranged for the MCRT from the Northeast office to start the investigation of the ship. The skipper of the _Illustrious_ has agreed to keep his eye on the ship to make sure it doesn't disappear before we can get to it. The _Nimitz_ was on its way to port in Norfolk but they got permission to go up to the ship and stand guard."

"They've been out for a long time," Tony said. "Didn't they want to get to port?"

"They've lost two of their own and another has been attacked. They have no intention of letting them get away with it."

There were a few rebellious looks, but in general, they knew that this was how it had to be. As much as they'd like to get revenge, they couldn't. Instead, they settled in to watch and wait. All they wanted at the moment was to get Tim and Stan back to DC so that they could watch over them.

...even if they didn't know if they could do anything to help.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I want you to lie down here, Agent Burley," Lt. Seton said. "Just try to relax. Mr. Davies, get him on an IV."

Looking at her two patients, Lt. Seton found that she was extremely concerned for both. Stan would recover given time, but his anxiety had developed to an extreme degree after days of watching over someone he couldn't help...in a fevered state, not thinking clearly. Tim was in a bad state. A _very_ bad state. She wasn't sure of the best approach. She knew the treatments for tetanus, but from what she had been told, this _wasn't_ tetanus, for all that there were similarities. At this point, she was confined to treating the symptoms, and Tim definitely needed relief from the symptoms. The sooner, the better. She decided to put in a call to Bethesda to consult with the doctors who would be treating Tim for a longer period. She got Tim on an IV to combat the dehydration _and_ the likely near-starvation from the energy sapped by the incessant seizures.

Tim had three seizures, of lesser intensity than the one Lt. Seton had witnessed on the ship, but they were very close together. The fact that he'd survived so long was a relief, but it was likely agonizing for him since he was usually conscious for them. They had him on oxygen, diazepam, and now an IV, and still, he was suffering. His breathing was bad and his heart was taking quite a beating. Some people with tetanus had actually died from cardiac arrest.

After a consultation with Bethesda, she decided to take the step of ensuring Tim's oxygen supply by performing a tracheotomy. Tim was only semi-conscious at the moment, but Lt. Seton wanted to explain what was happening. She bent over her patient.

"Agent McGee, we're going to stabilize your breathing a bit, but it's going to be through a tracheotomy. I'll be making an incision and putting a tube directly into your trachea and you'll be hooked up to a ventilator. This means that you won't be able to talk but in successive seizures, you'll be able to continue breathing. I'm going to give you general anesthesia. You won't feel a thing and when you wake up, you'll have the ventilator breathing for you. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but it's better than the alternative."

Tim made no verbal response, but as Lt. Seton turned away, she noticed a faint movement. She turned back. Tim's eyes were open slightly.

"It's...necessary?" he whispered.

Lt. Seton nodded. "Yes. At this point, this is the only option we have."

Tim nodded and his eyes closed. "Okay...okay..."

Lt. Seton walked over to where Davies was just finishing up getting Stan settled. Stan was lying back, but he was not relaxed at all. He was too worried. His temperature was 102.5 which was pretty high for a sustained fever. One day of it wouldn't have been bad, but this kind of reaction could have been dangerous if it had continued for many more days, especially with the lack of hydration and nourishment.

"You need to relax, Agent Burley."

Stan sat up and looked over toward Tim's bed. "Is Tim all right?"

"He will be. We are taking good care of him. Trust us, Agent Burley. You need to let yourself relax and rest. You will get better much more quickly that way."

"I said that I had his back."

"You've done that, Agent Burley. Your friend is not alone. He is being cared for and now, you need to care for yourself."

It didn't appear that Stan was going to be able to rest on his own. Taking matters into her own hands, Lt. Seton gestured to Davies and got a sedative. She added it to the IV line and then watched and waited.

It didn't take long. Stan, for all his resistance, conscious or otherwise, finally gave in to his body's exhaustion...with a little persuasion.

Once he was out, Lt. Seton got Davies to assist her in setting up the temporary OR that would allow her to perform the tracheotomy.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan opened his eyes and looked around. How had they got back into the medical department of the ship? He didn't remember even _wanting_ to go back there. Great. He'd clearly become delirious. He leaned back and closed his eyes again.

"Agent Burley? Are you awake?"

That wasn't Tim speaking. He still felt hot and uncomfortable, but there was a lot less... blurriness than he remembered.

"Agent Burley?"

Stan opened eyes again...and saw a Teletubby. No...wait...

"You're the...the doctor, right?" he asked.

"Very good. Do you remember my name?"

"Not...no. Sorry."

"Surgeon Lieutenant Seton. How are you feeling?"

Stan thought about it. "Good enough to know how bad I felt before, but I still feel awful."

"That's an important improvement. You were pretty far gone. Not in danger of dying, but on your way to that if you'd gone much longer without food or water."

"Tim? Is he okay? Has he–?"

Lt. Seton's expressive was serious, but not so much so that Tim had died and she was trying to break the news.

"He's alive. We gave him a tracheostomy and now we're focused on keeping him stable enough for transport. We're already getting ready to move you both to Bethesda."

"Am I in that bad a condition?"

"It'll wear you out, the vibrations and such, but no, you'll recover...if we can only figure out what's going on inside you. You still have the fever and that can be dangerous if it doesn't go away. Your fever is high but not dangerously high if it were temporary."

"But it's not?"

"Not so far. Uncontrolled, it could kill you, albeit more slowly than Agent McGee's symptoms would kill him, uncontrolled."

"Can I see him?"

Lt. Seton smiled tolerantly. "If you agree to listen to me when I tell you the visit is over."

"Visit? He's just over there!" Stan said, pointing toward the other side of the room. Then, he noticed that his hand was shaking.

"Yes, and I'd wager that you'd have a hard time making it over there by yourself. I think you _could_ if it was necessary, but I doubt that's the case here."

Stan smiled. "You're insulting my manhood."

"If your manhood depends on being able to walk across a room when you were recently on the verge of collapse, you need to examine your definition of manhood. It's severely lacking."

"Point taken."

"Good. Now, are you prepared?"

"Sure."

Lt. Seton smiled. "If you promise to do what you're told, I'll help you over."

Stan allowed Lt. Seton to help him up. He was taller than she was, but he was impressed at how easily she supported his weight.

"Am I really that light or are you just tough?"

"I'm a female medical officer in the Royal Navy," Lt. Seton said. "What do _you_ think, Agent Burley?"

"I think that I'm not going to answer that question...because I'm already tired."

Lt. Seton laughed and settled him on a chair beside Tim's bed.

"Is he asleep?"

"Mostly. He won't be alert even if he responds to you. It's better that way. With the diazepam, his seizures, when they come, are much milder. We can't give him enough at this point to eliminate them completely."

"Oh."

She let him sit there and gave him some time alone...or relatively alone. She was still in her quarantine gear and sitting at her computer, but she gave him the illusion of solitude.

Stan looked at Tim and was...bothered by seeing him with a hole in his throat. Now, granted, there was a tube coming off that hole running to a ventilator, but he was still bothered by it. Tim had a hole in his throat...helping him breathe...because he couldn't breathe otherwise.

He swallowed his feeling and smiled.

"Hey, Tim. You in there?"

Tim's eyes fluttered open. His expression was confused. He started to talk.

"You can't talk right now, Tim. You have a tracheotomy."

Tim brought his hand up to his throat and felt the tube.

"Yeah. That's it."

Then, Tim tensed up. It wasn't nearly so violent as it had been before but he clearly still felt it...and it still hurt.

"We're getting ready to go back to DC. We'll get this figured out."

_Promise?_ Tim mouthed.

"I promised we'd get off the ship. I promise this, too."

Tim had another seizure and his eyes filled with fear.

"I promise. I'm not going to give up until we figure this out."

Tim swallowed his fear and nodded. He was clearly trying to buck up, but it was hard to do. Stan couldn't blame him. The seizures were still there, even on anti-convulsant medication.

"You're going to make it, Tim. You will...even if I have to beat the cure out of whoever did this."

Tim raised his hand again and made the sign for _Thank you_.

"Abby taught you, too, huh?" Stan asked.

Tim smiled and nodded.

"Good. We can still talk while we're stuck in quarantine."

Tim smiled again...and had another seizure.

Stan couldn't help but hope that he wasn't lying.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Three hours later, Lt. Seton put Tim under full sedation, and then, they loaded Tim and Stan onto the medevac and started the journey to Bethesda.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Twenty-four hours later..._

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Vance said without looking up.

"Director."

He looked up in surprise.

"Agent Gibbs, did you just _knock_ on my door and let me decide to have you come in? What's the occasion?"

"Tim and Stan have just arrived at Bethesda and are being settled into quarantine."

"And you want to drop everything and go?"

"Yes."

Vance had always appreciated Gibbs' ability to be blunt when necessary.

"I'm not going to keep you here. Just remember that there's a case to solve. The Northeast MTAC team isn't going aboard until we know whether or not this is a contagious disease. Any delay could hold back the entire investigation."

"Understood," Gibbs said brusquely. He turned to leave.

"Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

"We're going to solve this one. I don't care how long it takes. It'll be solved."

"I just hope it's in time," Gibbs said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan was sitting alone in quarantine. They had checked him quickly and then turned their attention to Tim who was still seizing up at regular intervals. Stan felt extraneous. He couldn't leave quarantine until they knew what was going on. He couldn't help Tim anymore. He couldn't participate in the investigation. He was just stuck...twiddling his thumbs. Stan had never been much of a thumb-twiddler. It was against his nature to be forced to do nothing. He liked down time as much as the next person, but he liked to be able to _do_ something with it. Right now...he was just sitting around. It was frustrating to say the least.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the door opened, admitting a gowned and masked nurse.

"Agent Burley."

"Is Tim all right?" he asked.

"Agent McGee?"

"Yes. Is he all right? Are you...fixing him?"

"Right now...Agent McGee is being prepped for an extended induced coma."

"What? Why?"

"Because we haven't the slightest idea what's wrong with him. Until we can figure _that_ out, we have to keep him alive and suffering as little as possible. He doesn't need to be awake to feel these seizures. If the other people who were on that same ship with you died of the same affliction, they wouldn't have survived to reach this point. The seizures are becoming almost constant. If we don't do something, his body simply won't be able to take it and he'll die."

"But...but you're going to figure it out! You've _got_ to!" He felt himself starting to panic and he sat down, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down. He couldn't fall apart now.

"I know you're worried, Agent Burley, but we are doing the best we can. We don't have any idea what's wrong, and we can't do anything for him until we can analyze his blood and other fluids. ...and yours, too."

Stan stared at the ceiling.

"I feel so useless."

"Well, if you're ready, we can start helping you help us."

"How?"

"By sitting quietly and letting me take some samples."

Stan smiled ruefully and nodded. "Okay."

"Good."

Stan did as he was told. He sat quietly and let the nurse take his blood. He suppressed a little embarrassment about contributing a sample for the urine test. He let her take a hair sample as well. Then, she made him lay back on a bed while she prepped another IV...but this was just to continue the rehydration process, not to get rid of the fever. They wanted to let the fever run its course...if it would...if the course it was running wasn't a marathon...or a triathalon. In the meantime, they would make sure he stayed hydrated.

"So I'll be hot and miserable but I'll be hydrated?" Stan asked at the end of the nurse's explanation.

"More or less, but if the fever doesn't start coming down on its own in a day or two, we'll start taking steps to get rid of it. If this _is_ a reaction to an infection, it's best to let your body fight back."

Stan sighed. "Okay. How long will it take to figure out whether or not this is some contagious disease?"

"I can't answer that. When we get the analysis back. It'll be rushed through, but until we can see what it is, we can't say whether or not it's contagious."

"I know. I just..." Stan got up and started pacing, although he felt tired quickly. "I feel like all I can do is wait. Wait for Tim to die. Wait for someone to get to us. Wait for a blood test. Wait for..."

The nurse took him by the arm and gently led him back to the bed.

"Agent Burley, I understand that you're frustrated and uncomfortable and worried, but you need to calm down and let yourself recover as much as is possible. It's going to take _time_, no matter what we find. You need to be patient."

Stan sighed again and stared at the ceiling again. He knew she was right.

"Can I at least be in the same room with Tim? Keep an eye on him?"

She shook her head.

"I'm afraid not. Until we're sure of what we're dealing with..."

"Yeah, yeah. Be patient."

"Agent McGee is in the ICU. He needs around-the-clock care and we won't let anything happen to him."

Stan nodded.

"Trust us, Agent Burley. We're doing our best."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Once we get Agent McGee fully stabilized, I'll make sure that someone comes in and lets you know what's going on. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Let me get the IV started and then, I'll let you rest."

Stan nodded and let her do her job. He couldn't deny that he felt a lot better than he had on the ship. It was mostly frustration talking right now. He knew that, but it didn't make him any happier. After the nurse left with the samples, Stan looked around the room he was in. It was...a quarantine room. Not designed for glamour but for function.

In other words, it was rather depressing.

Stan lay on the bed for a while, drowsing a little, feeling very uncomfortable...and worrying.

Then, there was a knock on the window. Stan sat up and felt unaccountably cheered. A mass of people was standing on the other side.

"Hey, Boss!" he said. "Wow...the whole gang. Are you sure you're here to see me?"

"Of course we are!" Ducky said in surprise. "We are, naturally, worried about Timothy as well, but we're here to see you."

"And you've looked better, Stan," Tony said. "...but you've also looked worse."

"I've felt better...and I've felt worse," Stan said in reply.

He got up and dragged the IV over to stand in front of the window.

Abby put her hands on the window.

"Stan, I wish I could get in there. You look like you could use a hug."

"I probably could. You have no idea how good it is to see you all...even those of you I don't know," he said eyeing the other woman and younger man.

"I am Ziva. I am on the team."

"Jimmy Palmer...I work with Ducky."

"Nice to meet you," Stan said. "I wish I was meeting you in a better situation."

"Yes. It is not ideal, but I am glad to see you alive. We were all worried, especially when you fell asleep and we could not wake you up."

"When was that?" Stan asked.

"On the ship," Tony said. "Before the chopper got there. You fell asleep and we were shouting at you, trying to get you to wake up. You didn't even move."

"I did fear that you had become too far gone to respond to _any_ stimulus," Ducky said. "It was a relief to see you lift your head."

Stan shrugged. He felt awkward being reminded of the time he had slipped in his responsibilities.

"Have you seen Tim yet?" he asked.

"No. Not yet. In fact, we don't even know where he is at the moment."

Stan suddenly felt afraid. "What? What if...whoever did this is...is after him?"

"We'll check," Gibbs said.

And he meant it. He excused himself.

"Don't worry, Stan," Ducky said. "I don't think he'll have vanished."

"I can't help it. I _have_ to worry. I can't do anything else," Stan said with a worried smile. "Do you know anything about why this was done?"

"No. Not yet. We have ideas, but nothing else yet. We have a lot of different investigations going. This is huge, way bigger than we thought it was going to be," Tony said.

"But we're going to figure all this out, Stan," Abby said. "We're going to get you and Tim all fixed up and then we're going to get those guys who did that to you and then we're going to..."

"Put them in prison, right?" Jimmy asked.

They'd clearly had this conversation already.

"We've been so focused on trying to get to you and Timothy that we haven't spent as much of our time on the case itself."

"I wonder if they planned that," Stan said, softly. "We were the illusion, distracting you guys from reality."

"Stan, you're looking a little pale. Perhaps you should sit down."

"You're probably right," Stan said. "I hate sitting around in here. It's frustrating...and I'm feeling...all hot and bothered."

Ducky chuckled a little. "You never did take idleness well. This time, you're going to have to allow us to do the work and you will have to wait."

"Yeah. I know. You know...I'm feeling kind of...fuzzy. I'm going to...lay down."

"You do that. Sleep and it will help you feel better."

Stan nodded and went back to the bed. His head was spinning a little bit and lying down was a relief. As he reached the bed, he still felt that twist of worry in his stomach. It was hard to relax. In fact, he couldn't. Not until he knew that Tim was as okay as he could be.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I need to know where Agent McGee is."

"Excuse me?"

Gibbs kept his voice calm. "Where is Agent McGee?"

The nurse looked at Gibbs and then down at her computer.

"He's in the ICU."

"I need to see him now."

"Sir, he's..."

"I need to see him. It's not a request," Gibbs said, holding out his badge and ID.

"Why?"

"Because I need to make sure that he's really here. This man was attacked by people we haven't yet identified."

The nurse nodded and got to her feet.

"This way, sir."

She led him down the hall.

"You can't go inside right now. It's quarantined, but you can see him from the observation room."

Gibbs nodded. As galling as it was to be kept apart, he knew that it had to be that way until they knew what they were dealing with.

He saw Tim. It _was_ Tim, but seeing him was awful. It was _like_ seeing a stranger. He'd had a tracheotomy at some point. He seemed to have shriveled. He was dwarfed by all the machinery around him. He was not breathing on his own. He was hooked up to IVs. He had what appeared to be a feeding tube as well.

"What's going on?" Gibbs asked.

"This is your agent?"

"Yes. What's going on?" he asked again.

"He's being put in an induced coma. His body just can't deal with the seizures. They're too frequent. Without the constant support, he'd be dead by now. They can maintain this as long they need to. Depending on what they find, it might be a _long_ time. Some people with actual tetanus have been in these states for over a month."

"A month?"

"Yes."

Gibbs nodded.

"Are you worried that he might be in danger?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"We'll be cautious about who we let back. His family will be coming. We've already heard from them, but we'll keep that in mind."

"Thank you."

He stared at what had happened to his agent. It was liked a horror movie.

"He's still alive, sir."

"Can hardly tell."

"But he is. If we let him wake up, he would be there, but he'd be in a lot of pain. This is the kindest thing for him right now."

"Right."

Gibbs could accept that this was the best...for now. But as he stared at Tim, he felt that there was absolutely nothing that would stop him from solving this case and bringing Tim out of this.

Nothing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

It took two days for a full analysis to be done on the samples from Tim and Stan. While they were waiting for the news, the MCRT threw themselves into trying to solve whatever tendrils they could of this insanity.

The samples from the cabin were given to Abby. Ducky and Jimmy got to work on what was left of the corpse. Interviews with friends, family, fellow sailors. The _Nimitz_ had arrived at the site of the drifting ship and they were keeping a close watch on it, playing host to the Northeast MCRT until they could go aboard. Agent Lovitz had sent two of his agents to England to talk with the port authorities there. Vance was in MTAC, contacting the other ships from which sailors had vanished.

...and Stan was stuck in quarantine.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan was ready to go crazy. Nearly three days in this same room and he was ready to hit something. He was hot and miserable and had nothing to distract himself from his discomfort. Nothing except worrying about how Tim was doing. The nurse had done as she'd promised and given him updates, but knowing that Tim was in a coma and was being treated hadn't made him feel any better.

Suddenly, the door opened. Stan turned around and was surprised when he saw his doctor come in without any protective garments. He only knew it was his doctor because he'd seen him through the observation window once. It actually took him a few seconds to realize what that meant.

"Not contagious?" he asked softly.

"Not a disease at all. Come on."

"Where to?"

"To get the full explanation from what we've found, Agent Burley."

The doctor didn't seem at all pleased by whatever he knew which made Stan feel more worried.

"Come on, Agent Burley."

Stan walked over to the door, almost afraid, somehow, of walking through it. He paused and then forced himself to walk forward. He was tired and hot by the time they reached the small conference room. It wasn't that it was far. It was just that the fever kept him from building up any energy. They had already tried to get him to use a wheelchair and he had refused...but this was the first time he'd walked any distance and he wondered how tired he'd be on the way back.

"STAN!"

There were arms around him before he had time to register the voice. He staggered a little bit, but Abby's arms were as supportive as they were embracing.

"I have _missed_ you! I hated seeing you through the window...and you feel so hot still! I'm sorry that we haven't figured everything out yet. We're working really hard and..."

"Abby, let him sit down."

Stan looked beyond Abby's enthusiasm and smiled a little at Gibbs.

"We can't start the meeting until you're done, Abbs," Tony said.

Abby smiled, not in the least cowed, but she let Stan go and he was glad to sit down.

"So what's up?" he asked. "You have the analysis, but you don't seem happy about it...and since I finally got out of quarantine, you must know _something_."

The doctor nodded.

"Yes, we know that it's not contagious. It's not even a disease, although it's rampant in your body."

"Then, what is it?"

"It's a drug."

"What?" Stan asked in surprise. "If it's a drug, why isn't it gone yet? A drug shouldn't be present like this, not for this long...and why do I have a fever?"

"The drug is like nothing I've ever seen before. I showed it to some of my colleagues who are experts in chemical weapons..."

"Weapons? Come on!" Stan interrupted. The words kept slipping out before he could stop them. He knew it probably wasn't helping.

"We don't know."

"What _do_ you know, Dr. Banks?" Ducky asked. "You must have something more to tell us."

"It's completely synthetic. Manmade. It's not distilled or processed or refined like you see with heroine or cocaine. The reason it's still in your body, Agent Burley, is that it's bonding to your tissues and your cells. It's circulating but it's staying out of your excretions. Your body is reacting like it would to an infection because it's _acting_ like an infection, only it's not reproducing or taking over cells. It's simply bonding with them...and refusing to leave."

"What about Tim?" Stan asked. "Is he allergic to it or something?"

Dr. Banks took a breath. "Agent McGee is different. We see the same basic structure, but it's more complex. It's almost like it mutated."

"You just said it wasn't alive."

"It's not, but at the same time, it's acting like the drug in _your_ system but doesn't have exactly the same structure to it. We're going to give the complete workup to NCIS to analyze, and you may want to run your own tests, but right now...we're stumped. It should be dissipating but it's not. It's not alive but it acts like it is. It's causing a fever but with no effect. It's not contagious but we don't know anything else about it really."

Stan sighed. "Then, I can go?"

"Go? Absolutely not," Dr. Banks said.

"You just said that you don't know anything about it, but it's not contagious. You said that it's a drug. There's no reason for me to stick around here doing nothing. I can go back to work. I can..."

"Agent Burley, you have an entirely unknown drug inside of you that has caused a fever which has not abated one iota in at least a week. You're not fit for duty and you're not fit to be released."

"You've got to be kidding me. What am I supposed to do here? Stare at Tim while he lies there in a coma? Stare at the walls? I'm going nuts here. There's no reason to keep me in this place while there's work to be done."

Stan noticed that everyone was looking askance at him, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe that he was going to have to stay here and stare. Stay and sit. Stay and do nothing...while they were all trying to do what was necessary to save Tim.

"Stan? Stan?"

Stan blinked at realized that Gibbs was shaking him.

"What?"

"Come on."

"Where?"

"Just out of here. Come on."

Stan let himself be ushered out of the room. Gibbs led him to another small, unoccupied room.

"Have a seat."

"Gibbs, what are you–?"

"What's going on in there, Stan?" he asked, pointing at Stan's head.

"What are you talking about?" Stan asked. "Are you trying to tell me that I should just _sit_ around and do nothing?"

"Yes."

"Why? Don't you need all the help you can get? Don't you need–?"

"Stan, listen. You are not in any state to help us on this case."

"All I have is a fever."

"And if you can't see that it's clouding your judgment, then you _really_ aren't in any state to work on this case."

"What?"

"Stan, you can barely walk down the hall without starting to shake. You drifted off in there. You are not well. It's not a disease, but it might as well be. What's this really about?"

Stan listened to Gibbs and tried to keep his mind engaged...if only to prove to Gibbs that he was wrong.

"Come on, Stan. This isn't like you."

Unbidden, Stan had two images well up in his head: Tim in one of his seizures and those dead sailors on the ship.

"I'm tired of having to...to stand by and...and watch while other people suffer. Boss, this is my case. I started the investigation. I got Tim pulled into it...and I'm the one who just has to _sit_ here while Tim is in a coma, other people are dead, and the...the people who did all this are getting away with it! Why do I have to sit here and let that happen?"

Gibbs was being strangely patient with him. He grabbed Stan by the shoulders and stared him in the face.

"You're not letting that happen, Stan. You have to wait just like Tim does for _us_ to do our jobs and help these doctors here. We'll stop them, Stan. I know you want to be in on all this. You feel like it's your responsibility."

"It _is_."

"Don't make me start head slapping you, Stan," Gibbs said with a smile.

Stan couldn't help but smile a little. The head slap hadn't been so common when he'd been working under Gibbs.

"The fact is that this _isn't_ your responsibility right now. It isn't and it _can't_ be even if it was. You're in no shape to be doing anything. Until they had figure out how to control your fever, you're staying here. And I don't mean giving you ibuprofen."

Stan sighed ruefully. How had Gibbs known that was his next suggestion?

"Stan, you need to take care of yourself. If you were more in your right mind, you'd know that already."

"I can't, Gibbs," Stan admitted. "I can't relax. I keep thinking of all that's gone on and I just... I hate feeling like this."

"Any attacks?"

"No. Maybe this drug is a cure," Stan said with a weary smile. "What an irony."

"If you can't do it on your own, then, you need to tell the doctors here. I can't be the one to keep you in line."

"You're the last person who should be keeping people in line."

"Exactly," Gibbs said with a grin.

Stan tried to calm himself down.

"So...I can't help."

"No," Gibbs said. "You can't, Stan."

"What am I supposed to do, then, Boss?"

"Recover."

"That's it?"

"That's it. That's what you need to do. Relax. Please, Stan. Don't keep pushing yourself like this. You just can't do it."

"Boss, I'm so tired," Stan said. "I wanted to do something to...to distract from everything else."

"Maybe you should try reading," Gibbs said wryly.

"Reading?"

"It's something to try...and something you can handle."

Stan looked up at the ceiling and then at Gibbs.

"Boss...can you just promise me something? If it doesn't work out, I won't blame you. Just promise me now so that I can have something to hold onto. Promise me that there's a good end to this."

"I promise," Gibbs said promptly.

Stan smiled. "Thanks."

"Now, let's figure out where they're going to stick you now that they know you're not contagious."

Stan nodded.

"And enough of the walking around. I'm getting you a wheelchair."

"I don't want a chair," Stan said.

"I don't care. You're getting a chair."

Stan could see that there was no point in arguing, and he didn't feel like he had the energy for it anyway. So he stayed where he was while Gibbs scouted out a wheelchair. When Gibbs got back, Stan had a thought.

"Gibbs, could you take me to see Tim, first?"

"You sure you want to?"

"Yeah. If his parents are there, I don't want to intrude, but..."

"They're not right now, but you won't be able to avoid them forever."

Stan just shrugged, neither confirming or denying what Gibbs suggested. He just let Gibbs wheel him to the ICU where Tim was ensconced.

He looked horrible. Stan wasn't going to say that he seemed peaceful or sleeping or anything. Tim looked terrible. He looked like an ash-white stick...with a hole in his throat. Gibbs patted Stan on the shoulder and left him there. Stan looked at Tim again.

"I know you can't hear me right now, Tim, but...man, no matter how bad I look right now, you're worse. I owe you big time for getting us off that ship, for all the work you did with the case to start. Gibbs tells me I have to let them do the work right now, and you know Gibbs. He always gets his way in stuff like this. So I'm giving in. I just don't have the energy to fight him on it. ...but it's not because I want to, Tim. I wanted to be the one to pull you out of this, like I promised. But I can't. It sucks but I can't. I hope you can forgive me for that."

"There's nothing to forgive, Stan."

A new voice. Stan looked up and smiled at Ducky.

"So you say."

"So would Timothy say were he able. You have done nothing needing forgiveness here."

"Shouldn't you be in that room working on what's wrong with us?"

"No, I shouldn't. My part will begin when the bodies of those other brave men arrive in DC. Abigail will be working through the details of the report. Anthony and Ziva will be attempting to track down the explosives used in the cabin. I have heard that the FBI may be brought in as well. All in all, at the moment, my place is here, trying to help a good man who has let his fear take control of his good sense."

"What do I have to be afraid of, Ducky?" Stan asked, staring at Tim. "All I've got is a fever."

"That is not getting any better, but that's beside the point. Your fear is that, in spite of all you tried to do, it will not be enough and Timothy will die."

"Every time he had a seizure...I thought it might be his last. I couldn't do anything about it."

"Of course you couldn't. Seizures can't be stopped when they're in progress."

"Why can't I see it so clearly?"

"Because you're suffering yourself and you have taken too much responsibility on yourself without considering the possibility that you might be wrong."

Stan nodded a little.

"This isn't fair, Ducky. It's not right."

"Both statements are correct."

"You're here to tell me to go to bed?"

"Among other things, yes. We've found your new room."

"Will you keep me in the loop, Ducky? Please?"

"To the degree I think it's wise, yes. If I think it won't help you to know, I won't tell you."

"Guess I can't complain about that."

"No, you can't. Now, let's go to your room."

Stan nodded. He started to get up, but Ducky wouldn't let him. He insisted on pushing the wheelchair to the room. He insisted on helping Stan onto his bed and he insisted that he talk to Stan's doctor and get him a sedative so that he _had_ to sleep.

Stan gave in and, if he were honest with himself, the sleep that came on him after Dr. Banks gave him a sedative was a relief.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What are we going to do? They got them off the ship. By now, they've..."

"Yes, what have they got? Two men, one on the brink of death and the other, if it goes the way it has in the other trials, who is just as close although it's not apparent yet."

"How long will it take until they find that those other men died of–?"

"They have no other live samples for comparison. Only men who have been dead for days. Some must be decomposing by now."

"I'd still feel better if the ones who are alive now...weren't."

"If you can find a way into a secure military hospital, feel free, but I'd rather rely on the fact that they will have a hard time keeping their men alive. In the meantime, we have more information we can incorporate into the next trials. We're getting closer all the time. We'll succeed eventually, and when we do, no one will care that a few had to die first."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_One week later..._

"Okay. So...what do we have?"

"I'm still trying to break through the structure of this drug," Abby said. "It's so confusing, but I think I'm getting close. It's so weird that it's not the same as what Stan has in his samples. I mean, why do it that way? It doesn't make any sense. ...and how could a drug have mutated? Drugs don't mutate! That's not what drugs do!"

"What about the samples from the ship?"

"The only fingerprints I got belonged to Tim and Stan...and the other men who died."

"Ducky?" Gibbs asked.

Ducky sighed heavily. He and Jimmy had been working on the autopsies for the last three days. It was grim work. Many were in advanced stages of decomposition.

"I can tell you that not all the men died in the same manner, but determining _exactly_ what killed them is almost impossible. They all had variants of the drugs we are examining in their bodily fluids, but the levels have been drastically skewed by the length of time they have been dead and the fact that they have been decomposing. After death, many times, drugs that have been in the fatty tissues of the body are released into the bodily fluids and become mixed with the others. Asphyxiation appears to be the cause of death in some of these men, but others it is less clear. None died from external wounds. All had variations of this synthetic drug in their bodies, but beyond that, I'm afraid it will be difficult to give more information. The drug itself may have begun to break down after they died, although I don't know why it would. Even determining how long each one has been dead will be difficult, but I can tell you that, based on the rates of decomposition, they did not all die at the same time."

Gibbs nodded.

"Tony? Ziva?"

Tony sighed. "No sign of the others who were on leave. Their families have been worried about them, and haven't had contact with them for a couple of weeks or more. Ensign Wallace had been out of contact, but before that he hadn't mentioned getting a vaccine or a shot or a drug or anything to anyone. His parents said that he wasn't really acting differently that they saw and Cybercrimes hasn't found any large amounts of cash that would indicate he was being paid off for something. Why he suddenly became so afraid, I don't know."

"And his body was too badly burned to discover what he might have had in his blood," Ducky added.

"The families of the men we found were grateful that we found them, but they could not explain what had happened or why they had these vaccination records," Ziva said. "Their personal effects arrived yesterday and so far they have not revealed anything. I am still looking, though."

"So..." Gibbs asked.

"We've got..._stuff_," Tony said, "but we don't have enough. These people, whoever they are, covered their tracks. I'm surprised that Tim and Stan were left alive."

"Any chance of tracking them through the cameras?"

"Agent Record from the Northeast office tried to track it, but everything had been shut down by the time they went on board. No chance of finding where the signal was coming from," Tony said. "No way did these guys just give up, though. I think we need to keep the guards at the hospital. Twelve people were taken and left on a ship to die...maybe more. Stan said that it was possible some of them fell overboard and we can't overlook that as a possibility. I wouldn't put it past them to try to add a couple more to that number."

"Once Abigail finishes her analysis, we may have more to go on."

"Not in finding _them_," Tony said. "We still don't have any _idea_ who they are."

"They are well-connected, experienced, and skilled," Ziva said. "They are not above killing to keep their secret and they have some goal. We do not know what it is, but it is a goal. This is not something they have done just to kill."

"What do you think it is, Duck?" Gibbs asked. "Do you think this is actually a vaccine?"

"No. By definition it _can't _be because a vaccine is a biological agent that stimulates the body to create antibodies which will fight that particular disease. This is a drug, a synthetic drug that has no benefit."

"Could they be trying to _create_ a synthetic vaccine?" Ziva asked.

"I doubt it. This has no hallmarks of a treatment for any disease. It seems more like an attack than a treatment. I could be wrong, but if this is how they would try to create a synthetic vaccine, I tremble to see where they try to go next."

"A weapon?"

"It isn't very effective on a large scale. If it has to be injected, that reduces its effectiveness...and it's not quick-acting, either. I fail to see how this would be useful in that way."

"I'll figure this out, Gibbs," Abby said. "I will. In fact, I'm going to figure it out in the next twenty-four hours. Time me!"

"It doesn't have to be in the next day."

"No! It does," Abby declared. "It has been too long already and I hate seeing Stan and Tim the way they are. It's not fair and I don't like it."

She abruptly got to her feet and left, ready to get back to work.

"I think that getting back to work is a good idea, Jethro," Ducky said. "There is so much to try to do, so much that we don't know, so much that we need to discover."

Gibbs nodded and Ducky headed back down to Autopsy to continue to examine the dead body.

"I will get back to looking through their possessions," Ziva said.

"I'll help," Tony said.

Then, Gibbs was alone in the bullpen. He sat back for a few seconds and then headed up to report to Vance.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Good afternoon, Agent Burley. Are you ready for me to suck your blood today?"

Stan smiled a little. He had been sitting by the window, wishing that he could leave. Because he was here indefinitely, they had given him a room to himself and with a window. They had given him some medication to bring down the fever a bit. They hadn't eliminated it completely, but it had given Stan _some_ relief from the incessant discomfort.

"I think you get more pleasure out of this than is healthy," Stan said.

Tessa, his designated nurse, smiled. "Oh, I'm vampire in my off hours."

"I never know whether or not to take you seriously."

Tessa chuckled. "Come on over. Let's get this done. Won't take much time at all."

Stan nodded. They'd been taking daily blood and urine samples, trying to get some sign of the drug being flushed out. Nothing doing so far.

As he stood up, Stan felt a rush of dizziness.

"Are you all right?"

"Just stood up too fast," Stan said.

"Ah, so you're enjoying the blood-letting, too?"

"No."

"Well, then, we'll get it over with."

"Okay."

Stan sat down and let Tessa take his blood. She gave him the cup and he did his duty in giving a urine sample as well.

"So...is this helping at all?" Stan asked.

"We haven't seen any change yet, but that doesn't mean that we won't. Every chance we have to get more information is going to help. If you don't feel like you're helping a lot, just remember that we all do what we can."

"Yeah."

"Agent McGee's parents are here and they would like to talk to you. They say that you've been conveniently out of the way every time they've come by."

Stan shrugged awkwardly.

"They're in the ICU and they specifically asked to see you."

"Okay."

To Stan's surprise, Tessa put a cool hand on his cheek. It felt nice even as it was a little more personal than he'd expected.

"You should talk to them. I'll bet Dr. Graben would say the same."

"He has," Stan admitted.

"Then, you should think about doing it, Agent Burley."

"I have."

"Okay...then, _stop_ thinking about doing it and actually do it."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Right now," Tessa said. "I'm not your doctor but I'm giving you an order anyway."

"Oh, I see. Nurse's orders."

"More important than doctor's orders," Tessa said. "We just let the doctors _think_ they're more important." Then, she got serious again. "I'll walk you over. Some moral support?"

"Thanks."

Stan got to his feet and walked with Tessa to the ICU. He wasn't too far away, but as it always did, the walk winded him...and as always, Tessa chided him for refusing the wheelchair. Gibbs and Ducky could make him, but the hospital staff didn't stand a chance.

Stan stood nervously outside the ICU for a few seconds before Tessa nudged him and then went on her way. He stepped inside and walked over to Tim's bed. He saw Tim's parents there and was surprised to see that Tim's father was in a wheelchair himself. He'd had no idea.

He cleared his throat and they turned around.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Agent Burley. Stan."

The woman got to her feet, a smile on her face. "Oh! Wonderful! I'm Naomi. I'm Tim's mother and this is my husband, Sam."

Stan shook hands.

"You look so pale. Have a seat," Naomi said.

"Occupational hazard at the moment," Stan said, but he took the offered chair with relief.

"You don't look anything like I thought you would," Sam said.

"Yeah, I don't live up to my name."

For a moment, he saw quizzical expressions on their faces, but then, Sam burst out laughing.

"Oh, good one, Agent Burley!"

"Thanks," Stan said.

"Thanks for coming by. We wanted to talk with you," Naomi said. "You were there, too."

"I owe Tim my life. He got us connected to NCIS and got us off the ship."

"And we've been told that you were the one who kept Tim alive while you were stuck on the ship," Naomi said firmly. "Don't even try to be modest and pretend that you didn't do anything. There's no need."

Stan smiled. He liked these people.

"Well, I was along for the ride. I had to do _something_ with my time."

"I have to say that you don't look a whole lot better than our son does," Sam said. "So I suppose misery _does_ love company."

"We had plenty of misery, but it was mostly on Tim's side."

Neither Sam nor Naomi tried to deny that part. Looking at Tim in his coma, it was hard to pretend otherwise.

"We keep hoping that something will give, that there will be some change. So far...nothing."

They all looked at Tim. He looked basically the same as he had since coming to Bethesda. Pale, still, supported entirely by machines.

"It's hard to see him like this...even though I only know him from being on the ship."

"Oh, you've never worked together before?"

Stan shook his head. "I'm an Agent Afloat."

Naomi smiled. "Say no more. I can understand why you wouldn't have worked with him. Tim will go on board if he has to, but he tries to avoid it."

"Hey, are we keeping you from your family?" Sam asked. "It's nice chatting but..."

Stan shook his head. "My family isn't here."

"Why not?"

"Long story. Short form is that they didn't like that I became an NCIS agent instead of going into the family business. They haven't disowned me by any means, but...it's...awkward at best."

Sam nodded with an understanding that surprised him.

"Tim went through something similar with my father. We're a Navy family. I was...until there was an accident."

"Is that how you got in the wheelchair?"

"No. That was after. There was an incident when Tim was young that ended my Navy service. It's still classified and...not something we like talking about in the family. But my father was an admiral in the Navy. McGees have been Navy people since there was a Navy for them to be part of. Tim didn't want to be in the Navy, and he got seasick which was preventative for him anyway. My father saw it as a betrayal."

"Wow. I had no idea. We didn't really have time to...to talk about normal things," Stan said. "He said that he was supposed to be a computer geek."

"Well, that's Tim's personal perception," Naomi said. "He bought into the same stereotypes everyone else bought into and he sees his working for NCIS as fighting against what reality said."

Stan felt a little breathless, suddenly. Like he wasn't getting enough air. He rubbed his chest and took a deep breath.

"Are you all right?"

"Too much excitement, I guess," Stan said, smiling. "I haven't talked this much in a while."

"We don't want to wear you out, by any means. I don't think you could take it," Naomi said.

"I'm happy to talk, but I guess I should listen when my body says it's had enough."

"Here. I'll help you back to your room," Naomi said.

"No. That's all right. I can make it."

"If you're out of breath from talking, I think you might need a little more help than you seem to think you do."

"I just don't want to be a nuisance."

"You're not."

Naomi got up and gave Stan her arm. Stan gallantly put out his own arm and she smiled. They walked down the hall together.

"So you haven't seen your family? Do they know what's happened?"

"No. I'm waiting to tell them until I'm better."

"Why?"

"So that, if they want to come, they don't feel like they have to. I'd rather have it be a voluntary visit."

"You think they wouldn't want to come if they knew?"

"I think they'd come, and I know they'd be concerned, but I don't know if it would be because they really wanted to. I've got used to dealing with things on my own. It's just part of the complications that come with being Burley."

Naomi chuckled. "You like that joke, don't you."

"I do. It's pretty fun to use it, especially because I'm definitely not burly and never have been...even when I'm feeling good."

Stan had to take more deep breaths and he was suddenly leaning on Naomi more heavily than before.

"You going to collapse on me, Agent Burley?"

"No, but I think I've exerted myself more than I should have today. My room is just over there."

"All right. Here we are."

Naomi helped him inside and onto his bed.

"You'll be all right here?"

"Completely. This is my palace, my castle...until they let me leave."

"I think you're talking too much, Agent Burley," Naomi said. "Would you like me to tuck you in?"

Stan laughed breathlessly. "I don't think so. I can manage."

"Take care of yourself, Agent Burley. I'm sure that Tim will want to say thanks when he wakes up."

Stan smiled. _When_ not _if_. That was family. Refusing to accept the other possibility.

"People keep telling me to take care of myself."

"Maybe you should listen."

"Maybe so. I think, for now, I'll sleep."

"Do that. Feel free to stop by and visit any time you'd like. If you want us to come visit you, let us know. We'd be happy to keep you company."

Stan smiled. "I'm used to being alone. I'm _not_ used to sitting around doing nothing."

"We won't push ourselves on you, but the offer is genuine."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that."

Naomi excused herself...to go back and sit beside her son, to be with him, even if there was nothing else she could do besides be there. Stan thought about the kind of people who would have resulted in the man he'd met. The self-effacing attitude made more sense, just knowing that there had been someone who had resented Tim's choice. Stan had reacted to the criticism by being confident and independent. Tim had reacted by withdrawing but continuing on the path he'd chosen, even though he felt like he was going counter to reality or what he _should_ be doing.

He again felt that breathlessness which was strange because he could breathe just fine. It wasn't like it was hard to take in the air. It was just like he wasn't getting enough of it.

_How could I be so incredibly out of shape from a couple of weeks of this fever?_ Stan asked himself. There was no answer forthcoming, but he decided that a nap might be in order.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The next morning..._

Abby stared at the monitors. She had been working really hard on understanding the drugs Tim and Stan had in their systems, but she wasn't sure if what she'd seen was really there. She needed someone else to tell her that what she was seeing was right. Someone smart. Someone who understood this stuff, too. She smiled and turned around to connect to Autopsy.

"Ducky? Duck Man? The Duckmeister?"

Ducky appeared on the screen.

"_Hello, Abigail. Been up all night, I see."_

"I had to get this figured out. I think I might have. Do you have time to come and tell me if I'm delirious from lack of sleep, high on caffeine or if what I think I'm seeing is right?"

"_I have the time, but I have no doubt that the first two choices are entirely possible...coincident with the third."_

Abby laughed and disconnected. Ducky arrived only a minute or so later.

"What is it that you're seeing, Abigail?"

Abby spun around.

"Ducky! Thanks so much for coming up! I wasn't sure you'd be here. It's pretty early, and I've been here all night and I was here all day, and it was pretty lonely you know. I even had to get my own Caf-Pow!s!"

"What have you seen, Abigail?"

Abby laughed. "Sorry. I've had a lot of these," she said, holding up one of the empty cups.

"Understandable."

Abby brought up a side-by-side comparison of the drug in Tim and the one in Stan.

"Okay. So I looked at Stan's first because I figured his was supposed to be simpler and the doctor said Tim's looked like it had mutated or something."

"Yes? And?"

"And I started to think that...well, it's impossible for a non-living thing to mutate. Mutations happen in genetics and stuff like that, not in a drug. Drugs can be _changed_, but it's by bonding with other things or being broken down. So I was thinking about that and I thought, well, what if the drug in Tim's body _had_ bonded with something else? So I started to try and pull away the part that I saw in Stan's body from the different parts in Tim's. And when I did that, this is what I came up with."

Abby pushed a few keys and then brought up a simulation of the drug in Tim's body. Slowly, a smaller molecule pulled away from a much larger molecule, but it wasn't a simple process. The smaller molecule was in the center and surrounded by the larger molecule which, upon closer inspection, was actually four molecules that looked the same.

"Okay, Ducky. Now, look at the larger molecule. Do you see what I see?"

Ducky examined the molecule and then his eyes widened.

"Is that..."

"Organophosphate," Abby said.

"Do you know which one?"

"It looks like it could be one of the Novichok-type...supposedly," Abby said.

"And this is in Timothy's body?"

"Yeah...but if it was going to kill Tim, it would have done it a lot faster. So...binding with this other drug kept it from being fatal...but still led to Tim almost dying!"

Ducky stared at the screen.

"A vaccine," he murmured. "...a pseudo-vaccine for nerve agents. Something that would stay in the body for long periods of time and be ready if one were exposed to a nerve agent." He shook his head.

"Ducky? There's something else."

"But this is both horrific and amazing. That someone would attempt such a thing...and that they would _test_ this drug on human beings in such a way is...I'm at a loss for words."

"Ducky, I ran a simulation. I've been getting the samples from Tim and Stan's blood every day, and I used that to extrapolate what might happen in the future. I just got Tim's done. Look at this."

She ran the simulation. Ducky leaned forward.

"This is...it will dissipate?"

"It looks like it. It looks like it will start to break down and will be filtered out of his body."

"How long?"

"My simulation says another two weeks at least, but I don't know if we want to wait that long if we don't have to."

"Well, perhaps we could find a way to separate the nerve agent from the drug and get that part treated. Will the drug in Stan's body break down eventually as well?"

"I don't know. I was so surprised by what I was seeing with Tim's blood that I hadn't run it yet."

"Do. If we could get Timothy to the same state as Stan is in currently, that would be a relief. A fever is unpleasant but..." Ducky broke off as they watched the simulation.

"Oh, no!" Abby said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tessa walked into Stan's room. He was in the chair by the window as usual.

"Agent Burley, time for your daily bloodletting," she said with a smile.

Stan got up but stopped. He looked even paler than usual. He looked at her with an expression of confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"There's...not...enough...air..." he gasped and started to collapse.

Tessa caught him before he could fall. She helped him to his bed.

"Agent Burley. Agent Burley!"

He was breathing heavily, in and out, but he showed all the hallmarks of oxygen deprivation. She got on the PA.

"Code Blue! Dr. Banks! Code Blue! Room 353!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Agent Burley, I need you to breathe in and then exhale slowly for me," Dr. Banks said.

Stan heard the words but he was extremely confused. He was already breathing, but it felt like he wasn't. It felt like there was something stealing his air from his body.

"Agent Burley, exhale, please."

"What's...going...on?"

"Just exhale. Stop trying to talk. Stay still and breathe."

Stan tried to breathe, but he didn't understand why it wasn't working. He was breathing like he had his whole life but it wasn't helping. At all. It felt like he was suffocating even though he had all this air going into his lungs.

"Gas exchange seems normal. The problem is something internal."

"Okay. It must have to do with this drug, but I have no idea why."

Stan heard the voices, but it didn't seem to require his input at all. He just kept breathing, hoping that the next inhalation would help. It didn't make any sense that it wasn't. He heard beeping that was really irritating. Then, more talking.

"We're going to put him on 100% oxygen. Hopefully, that will be enough that some of it will make it into his system. Enough. Agent Burley? Did you hear me?"

Stan looked at Dr. Banks. He nodded.

"Good. We'll get the mask on in just a second. Try to relax."

In moments...moments that felt like eternities...there was a mask and after another minute or so, it actually felt like breathing was doing something. It wasn't as much as he wanted, but it was way more than he had been getting.

"Breathe slowly and deeply, Agent Burley. Try to keep yourself calm. It will make things easier for you."

Stan tried to listen. He still felt breathless, but not like he was going to suffocate.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Don't talk, Agent Burley. The less breath you use, the better you'll feel."

"What happened?" Stan asked, although the mask muffled his words quite a bit.

"We don't know yet. That was the fastest breakdown I've seen in a long time. We've got you monitored now, and do _not_ try to move, to get up, to do anything. Just focus on being able to breathe."

Stan nodded. For the first time, he actually felt fear for himself. He'd been worried, anxious even, before, but he was generally pretty positive about things working out for the best. As long as he had his faculties, he figured he could get himself out of most scrapes. Now, however, he was genuinely afraid. He wished that there was someone with him...just to distract him from his fear.

He stared at the ceiling, breathing in and out. It was like he was in some kind of low-oxygen environment, although, if he'd heard them correctly, he was breathing in pure oxygen.

"Dr. Banks, there's an urgent call for you from NCIS."

"All right. Tessa, can you stay with him until I get in touch with them? They may have some answers."

"Yes. I'll keep my eye on him until my rounds. I'll get someone else if you're not back."

"Good. Thanks."

Stan looked over.

"Tessa?" he whispered.

"Sh. Don't talk, Agent Burley. Just keep breathing. That's all you have to do."

"What...?"

"We're figuring it out, Agent Burley. You need to let us do that. Don't try to force anything. Keep breathing and I'll be happy."

Stan smiled and patted her cheek. "That's...important..."

"Sh! Stop talking, Agent Burley! Man, you're impossible."

"I try."

"Well, stop it. You're not a bad guy, and I'd hate to see anything more happen to you."

"Flirting?"

Tessa rolled her eyes. "No. I'm married. Stop talking."

"Why?"

"Stan, just relax. I keep telling you to rest and let us do the work. Start listening to us."

Stan breathed deeply. How much more deeply would he have to breathe to feel like his body was getting enough oxygen? ...and what if it got worse?

Tessa stayed with him, but then, another nurse came and took her place while she checked on her other patients. A nurse he didn't know. She didn't try to speak to him, and since he was supposed to keep quiet, the room stayed silent except for the clicks and beeps of the machines keeping him breathing.

It was lonely. Frightening.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dr. Banks got on the phone.

"_Dr. Banks. This is Abby Sciuto from NCIS. We have something to tell you about the drug!"_

"That something will go wrong and lead to Agent Burley being unable to breathe or rather unable to absorb oxygen?"

"_What? It's happened already?"_

"I just left his room. How long the onset was, I don't know, but it was fairly sudden. Do you have any ideas about what we could do?"

"_What are you doing now, Dr. Banks?"_ Ducky asked.

"We have him breathing 100% oxygen, but it's only a temporary fix. If it progresses and gets any worse, he'll asphyxiate. We don't have any way to force his body to use the oxygen. It's getting absorbed somehow and he feels like he's getting nothing."

"_I'll bring everything over right now,"_ Abby said. _"We'll get something figured out! We have to!"_

"As soon as you can. It took us completely by surprise."

"_Okay!"_

"_Dr. Banks, is there someone with Agent Burley right now?"_

"One of the nurses will be monitoring his condition."

"_But a genuine visitor?"_

"No. No one else."

"_Oh. I had hoped..."_

"What?"

"_I think that he would be helped by a friendly presence, especially if he is as confined as you have said."_

"I'll take that into consideration."

"_Thank you!"_

Abby hung up and Dr. Banks sighed. It was like every time they thought they had a handle on something, it all unraveled. He shouldn't have assumed that Stan was stable. In dealing with something completely unknown, it was foolish of him to have thought they understood how things were developing.

As he was considering what was going on, he suddenly remembered that Tessa had mentioned Stan speaking with the McGees, finally.

It wouldn't hurt to ask.

He walked to the ICU and peeked in. Yes, as he'd expected, the McGees were there.

"Mr. and Mrs. McGee?" he asked softly.

They looked over at him.

"Dr. Banks. Good morning. Is there some news?"

"Not about your son, I'm afraid."

"Agent Burley, then?"

"Yes, and it's not good news."

Naomi and Sam shared concerned looks.

"What is it?"

"He's had some kind of respiratory crisis and is breathing very badly. In fact, he's on pure oxygen and is only barely getting enough to survive."

"What happened?" Naomi asked.

"I wish I knew. At this point, we don't have any idea except that it's related to the drug in his body. But if I'm not intruding..."

"No, of course not!"

"Well, one of his colleagues feels that he might benefit from having someone there to talk to him. With his gas exchange being so poor, I don't want _him_ doing any talking at all, but it could help to have someone there to distract him from his struggles."

"Of course. Tim doesn't need both of us here," Naomi said.

"I'll come," Sam said at nearly the same time.

"Thank you. Don't get him excited and don't make him laugh, and remind him not to try talking. In fact, he should stay as still as possible to keep his oxygen requirements lower."

"Okay. I can do that. I'm good at talking," Sam said with a smile.

"You can definitely do that," Naomi said. "I'll stay with Tim."

"Hopefully, I'll have more news for you...but right now..." Dr. Banks said.

"No. That's fine. You have two patients in strange circumstances. Tim is stable at least."

Dr. Banks led Sam to Stan's room.

"Keep in mind that _any_ exertion will likely be overwhelming. Otherwise, he's still conscious and aware."

"Will do."

Sam rolled into Stan's room. Dr. Banks headed back to his office, to wait for Ducky and Abby to arrive.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tony...this is hopeless," Ziva said. "It is like these people do not even exist."

"They do and we're going to find them," Tony said. "I don't care what it takes. I'm not letting anyone who could do that to the Probie get away with it."

There was a sound of someone clearing their throat. Tony turned around. He and Ziva had been parked down in the evidence garage for a while, barely coming up for air. To have someone else down there was a surprise.

"Agent DiNozzo, Agent David?"

It was Keating from Cybercrimes.

"Yeah?"

"Director Vance had me looking for how whoever they are got a hold of a _Kilauea_-class ship. He's not here right now, but it's your case; so I figured I could report what I'd found."

"What is it?" Ziva asked.

"Well, apparently, they had an auction...they being the Navy. It was purchased by an unnamed buyer and...well..."

"Spit it out, Keating!" Tony said.

"Well, Agent McGee was in Cybercrimes. It was like someone attacked one of us. So...we found the name of the unnamed buyer."

"Don't tell me how you did it," Tony said. "I don't want to know if it was legal or not. Just tell me who and where."

It was clear that _not_ explaining how they had managed to track down the buyer was nearly choking Keating, but he managed to suppress it. Tony had a brief thought that it must be a feature of computer geeks.

"It's a company. I've never heard of it, and we couldn't find anything much about it...anywhere. It's listed online. I have the address, but..."

"Keating! Spit it up!" Ziva said.

Keating started to laugh but turned it into a cough. Tony couldn't blame him. Ziva did pretty good with the idioms by now, but when she got upset, she didn't think about them enough. Tony just raised his eyebrows, warning Keating not to correct her right now.

"It's called AntiEP, established in 2004, apparently. Some kind of research firm, I think. Their main offices are listed as being in Dover, Delaware, but they have some property in Arlington."

"What kind of property?"

"There's a building of some kind on the site."

"And you're sure about this? However you got this information is a valid source?" Tony asked.

Keating didn't even flinch. He met Tony's gaze head-on.

"Absolutely. Even if it's a shadow company, this is who bought the ship. I'd stake my life on it."

Ziva looked at him. "Would you stake McGee's life?"

"Yes."

Tony nodded.

"Call Gibbs. I'll meet you upstairs."

Ziva hurried to the elevator. Tony looked at the piles they still had to go through. There was a pile of paper from one of the men who had been found on the ship.

"Keating...you have some time?"

"Sure."

"Keep going through these things, and if you find anything else, let us know..._right_ when you find it."

"Okay."

"Thanks."

Tony ran up to the bullpen. Gibbs was already there.

"Well, Boss?"

"Let's go."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sam settled himself beside Stan's bed.

"Hi, Agent Burley. I heard you were having some problems. I'm really sorry."

Stan just shook his head.

"Well, I'm here to distract you by talking your ear off. How do you feel about that?"

"Sure..."

"Oops. I'm not supposed to let you talk. I'll get you in trouble again. So...I have no problem talking, but the subject matter is the only problem. So I'll get your feelings. Thumbs up or thumbs down, okay?"

Thumbs up.

Sam smiled.

"Okay. So...I'm a lit professor."

Thumbs down...and a weak smile.

"No lectures. Got it. I hope you don't mind some quotes, though. I don't know if I could carry on any kind of conversation without a few quotes thrown in."

Thumbs up.

"Great. Family?"

Thumbs up.

"I would much rather hear about you and your background. You're tantalizingly mum about them."

Thumbs down.

"Well, I can't grill you anyway...right now. But when you get better, you'd better be ready for some questions. Naomi and I are always interested in the people our son comes in contact with. However, I'll slake your curiosity. I'm guessing that you're most curious about Tim himself?"

Thumbs up.

"Thought so. You don't go through something like this, sharing experiences, without it affecting you. After all, Dag Hammarskjold said, 'Friendship needs no words – it is solitude delivered from the anguish of loneliness.' I think you and Tim, no matter what else happens, will be friends from this. Either one of you alone on that ship would have been much worse off, no matter what."

A slow nod, although Stan kept his eyes on the ceiling. Sam figured it was because that was easier in his current state and he took no offense.

"Okay. So...Tim is...unique. He's no genius, at least in the formal definition of the word, but he's really quite smart. That worked against him in high school to some degree. There was a bit of bullying. Not all the time, but enough that he was affected by it and couldn't wait to get out of school. I think part of the reason he graduated at 16 was because he knew that he couldn't get away from high school kids until he graduated."

A smile.

"So...we found out, a little later on, that he made an impression on some teachers at the school. We didn't know it before, but his high school P.E. teacher was quite impressed with him. When we went to a parent-teacher conference for our daughter Sarah, he actually sought us out and asked what Tim was doing with his life. Turns out that Tim had been given detention for a school fight and the coach had been overseeing it...and been impressed by whatever happened there. He told us that he knew Tim would succeed at whatever he wanted to do. It was quite a surprise to us, hearing that kind of thing from someone who had Tim in the only class he failed to do well in."

Sam fell silent for a moment, ruminating on the strange situation he was in, telling his son's story to a man who had known him for only a few days before both had been in a dire situation. He felt a finger on his arm.

"Sorry, Agent Burley..."

"Stan..."

"Okay. Sorry, Stan. I was off in the realms of my mind. Anyway, Tim graduated and went to MIT. None of us were surprised that he wanted to go there, but we _were_ surprised at how much he flourished there. He had mentioned to us once or twice that he wanted to become a detective, but we thought that had fallen by the wayside. Turns out that, no, it hadn't. Tim was just coming at it in his own way. He knew he was good at using computers and he didn't see any reason to deny it. So he decided to use that as a way of getting where he wanted to go: NCIS. His grandfather had actually told him that becoming a Navy cop wouldn't tarnish the family honor. I don't know if I'm really happy about that part, but Tim seemed to love the idea of working in law enforcement...no matter how much his mother and I worried about it. It was his dream, and dreams, as Thoreau said are 'the touchstones of our character.' Tim wouldn't have been happy doing anything else. Content, maybe, but not happy."

Sam could see that Stan wanted to ask questions, but he just couldn't at the moment.

"You want me to stop?"

Thumbs down.

"Okay. So...Tim wasn't satisfied with just getting one degree. Oh, no. Not _our_ son. No, he had to get his Master's degree in computer forensics, but even then, it wasn't enough. He finished up at MIT and went to Johns Hopkins to get a degree in biomedical engineering. I think he just wanted to indulge in his nerdy side, but we supported him in it, and we, again, assumed that he had given up on his NCIS dream. ...but no. He hadn't. The next thing we knew, he had started the process. As well as I feel we know him, he continually surprises us. He knows what he wants and he goes for it. If people tell him that he shouldn't, he puts his head down but still does it covertly...and he does it. It's the way he is. He doesn't like fighting about things but he doesn't want to give up either."

Stan's eyes moved from the ceiling. He smiled.

"You?"

"Me? You want to know about me? Oh, I'm boring."

Thumbs down.

Sam laughed.

"I'm just a former Navy man turned lit professor," Sam said. "I've always had an interest in quotations. I wooed my wife with them. I wasn't very eloquent on my own in the old days, but I have a good memory for other people's words. After I left the Navy, I knew what I wanted to do. I could have fought what happened, but it didn't make any sense to me to do it. I have a bit of a visual impairment, not that I'm blind, but I don't have some peripheral vision. I wouldn't have been able to work again anyway. So I left the Navy and went back to college...grad school. Finished my Ph.D. and was lucky enough to get a job in Ohio. Inland. I don't know if my dad would have forgiven me for it...except that he'd mellowed a little bit by then."

Thumbs up. Sam wasn't sure what that meant except that Stan seemed to be enjoying the stories. He decided to keep going. Next on the list.

"Naomi was going to be a lawyer when we met and let me tell you that she would have been a fearsome lawyer if she'd wanted to be. I was actually surprised that she decided to give it up when Tim was born. She told me that no one would ever take us because she knew the law, but she wouldn't give up being with Tim if she didn't have to. So we weren't as well off as some other people would have been. The Navy doesn't pay as much as we might have liked, but we talked about it and decided that it was worth the sacrifice. Then, I got on the fast track, and we discovered that our plans to have more children were going to be difficult. Sarah was born eight years after Tim. We'd almost given up and she was a blessing to us. Almost unexpected by that time. People think Naomi must be this sweet-natured woman, but they don't know her very well. She lovely and nice, but you don't get her upset. She's scary when she gets angry, but you'll never have a better person on your side."

Stan smiled.

"And she's on your side, too, Stan."

Sam was surprised by a flash of genuine gratitude...followed by fear. He saw Stan's heart rate increase slightly.

"Hey, Stan, don't you worry. I've heard a lot of stories from Tim about NCIS. They'll get this solved no matter what it takes. Don't worry."

One single tear...but even as little as Sam knew him, he could tell that Stan must be terrified to express it at all. He squeezed Stan's shoulder gently.

"You'll make it, Stan. Promise."

He could see that Stan was afraid of that very thing: that he wouldn't make it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky and Abby hurried to Bethesda, all their information in hand. Abby was on the verge of freaking out as she always was when things got personal. They didn't have all the answers, but they did have a lot of things to show in the hopes that Dr. Banks would be able to get some value out of it.

"Have a seat, Dr. Mallard, Ms. Scuito," Dr. Banks said. "I hope you have something to help because I don't know if Agent Burley has a lot of time. It was of sudden onset and I don't know if it will progress. If it does...I don't know what to do about it, to be honest."

Ducky nodded.

"I don't know if we have the needed answers, but we do have information that may help."

"Okay. Let's see it."

Abby set up the simulation showing the underlying structure of the drug in Tim's blood. Dr. Banks leaned forward to examine it in more detail.

"This looks like a chelating agent...even if we're not looking at metals here."

"That's what I was thinking," Abby said. "In Tim's blood, it's bonded with..."

"Organophosphate," Dr. Banks said, sounding outraged. "Nerve agents? Who is dosing NCIS agents with nerve agents? What is going on here?"

"I wish I knew," Abby said.

"I think, and I'm not sure, but I think that we may be seeing the results of secret testing of a potential pseudo-vaccine of sorts," Ducky said. "It is meant to stay in the blood until it comes into contact with other drugs of a specific type...like organophosphates which require fast treatment that can be dangerous in itself. If I am guessing correctly, the new larger molecule should then be slowly filtered out of the body preventing permanent damage and allowing the person in question to continue with only minor problems. Only what has happened is that it's bonded but hasn't been filtered. It seems to have saved Timothy from a quick fatality, but it isn't working like it should."

"And here's the simulation when I ran it on Stan's blood. We were thinking that maybe we could find some way of breaking the bonds between this drug and the nerve agent and removing those symptoms, but...I don't think we can, and I don't know if we can wait until the new molecule filters out on its because..."

She started the simulation going. Over time, the unbonded drug began to break down, but the decay of the drug led to a new structure, one that grabbed nearby molecules in order to become stable again. And the molecule that fit best...

"Oxygen," Dr. Banks said. "It's keeping the oxygen from working through his body. Ideally, that would mean that once all the decaying molecules are satisfied, things will be okay, but how long will that take?"

"And not just that," Abby said. "I kept the simulation running, and then I let Tim's run with this new information added in. The same thing will happen to him before the larger molecule can be removed. If we can't counteract this somehow, Tim will...and Stan will..."

Ducky could see that Abby didn't want to even say the words, but the simulation, if it was accurate, didn't have any issue with that. It ran to the conclusion. Both simulations showed, not only a potential death by asphyxiation due to trapping the oxygen gas in the blood and keeping it from being used by the body, but also it showed that the decaying parts which _didn't_ bond with oxygen would begin to affect the body tissues in the areas they touched. The lungs. The heart. Everywhere. In short, it was a disaster in the making with both men dying as the final result.

And if they didn't figure out what to do, they would be forced to face the fact that their only option was to make the death as painless as possible.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Keating sorted through the evidence. He knew that this kind of thing was considered fairly tedious by many of the agents, but it was right up his alley. Everyone in Cybercrimes had got together to figure out who had been responsible for attacking one of their own. It was a point of honor. Geeks got enough flak from the world. When possible, they would band together to get revenge. It was often not physical revenge, but it would get them where it hurt. He had been disappointed that Tony hadn't asked him for details, but at the same time, he was relieved. Nothing they had done was exactly _illegal_...at least, it was no more illegal than anything else they did on a regular basis...but it could be..misconstrued.

Hopefully, there would be other evidence to link AntiEP to what had happened. It would make things easier. Maybe even in this pile of stuff. With a determined smile, Keating dove back into the evidence. He would not allow a fellow geek to go down without a fight. Even if he and Tim hadn't really seen eye-to-eye on things, it was wrong to allow the bad guys to get away with it. He'd find something. He was sure of it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss...we don't have an authorization to burst in there, you know," Tony pointed out as they neared their destination.

Gibbs grunted.

"Okay. Just thought I'd point it out. We going to come in guns blazing?"

"Depends," Gibbs said.

"On what?"

"On whether or not this is like when you had the plague," Gibbs said darkly.

"Oh." Tony looked at Ziva who shrugged. She hadn't been there. "Uh...what was _that_ like?"

A pause.

"I threatened to shoot one of the employees if he didn't answer my questions."

"Threatened how?" Ziva asked.

"I pulled out my gun, pointed it at him and removed the safety."

"Were you really going to shoot him?"

"If he'd been unwilling to talk."

"Okay. Just wanted to know."

"Stan can't breathe. McGee is in a coma. I'm not accepting no as an answer."

"We should at least be careful about which people we shoot," Ziva said. "The one who has the answers should be kept alive long enough to talk."

"Good point," Gibbs said.

"Um...I hate to be the voice of reason here. I mean, I _really_ hate to be the voice of reason here, but didn't Vance tell us to do this by the book?"

"We are," Gibbs said. "My book."

Tony wasn't sure if Gibbs was kidding or not, but he wasn't going to complain. Gibbs had come from a hasty report from Ducky and Abby to tell them what was going on with Tim and Stan, i.e. that things were going from bad to worse. They didn't have time to pussyfoot around or be nice. They needed answers. Now, not in a day or two.

They drove to Arlington, found the address Keating had provided, and got out. It was a nondescript office building. Not too large, but well-kept and relatively new.

"This is pretty nice for some scummy people."

"Not everything is dingy and gray," Gibbs said and strode into the building.

He walked right over to the main desk.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes," Gibbs said. He pulled out his badge and his gun. "You can point us in the direction of the main office."

"Whoa!" The security got to his feet in a hurry, clearly wondering whether or not he should draw his own weapon.

"NCIS. We are federal agents," Tony said. "We are here to talk to and possibly arrest the head of your company. You need only to point us in the right direction." He gave a winning smile. "We won't bother you a bit."

The security guard swallowed nervously and pointed toward the elevator.

"Third floor. Can't miss it."

"Thanks!" Tony said.

Gibbs just stalked off in the indicated direction. They got on the elevator and rode up to the third floor. As they did, Tony's phone started ringing. Gibbs glared at him, but Tony looked and saw that it was Keating.

"Sorry, Boss. I think this might be important." He answered his phone. "Keating, this had better be important."

"_It is! I found a letter in Ensign Glenn's stuff! It's an offer to be a part of a special military research project with promise of compensation for his time!"_

"From?"

"_From AntiEP! Their logo is at the top and the address is the center of operations in Delaware! ...only the administration wasn't going to be conducted there."_

"In Arlington?"

"_No. Not there, either. It's another space near Norfolk. It didn't show up in their records. Maybe it's rented...or just being used by them. Don't know since we can't ask them."_

"And you're sure about this?"

"_Yes! Absolutely!"_

"Okay. If you lose that stuff, you had better not ever show your face again."

"_I'm not stupid, Agent DiNozzo!"_

"Good." Tony hung up. "We've got other evidence, Boss. A letter inviting one of the sailors to be part of military research."

"Good."

The doors opened and Gibbs strode forward. They definitely couldn't miss the main office. It was large, had glass walls and rather nice view out of some large windows. Gibbs didn't even pause. He wrenched open the door and lifted his gun.

"Clark Matheson?" he said, sounding almost reasonable.

The man sitting at the computer didn't turn around.

"I don't have any appointments right now. Come back later, please."

"If you don't turn around, I'll shoot your computer...and maybe you, too."

"What?" Matheson turned around and raised his hands over his head. "I don't keep any money here! We just do research!"

"We are federal agents, idiot," Ziva said with more than a little irritation.

"What do you want?"

"What do you know about this drug?" Ziva asked and held out an image of the structure.

"Where did you get that?" Matheson asked, affronted. "That's supposed to be confidential!"

"What do you know about it?"

"That you shouldn't have that information."

Gibbs raised his gun again.

"This drug has killed at least twelve members of the U.S. Navy. There are two more who are dying. If you don't start talking, you'll join the dead ones. What do you know? I won't ask again."

"No! That's impossible," Matheson sputtered. "This isn't ready for human tests yet! We've been running simulations and tests on rats. We aren't anywhere _near_ being prepped for human trials. It's...too...dangerous."

Gibbs lowered his gun.

"Why?"

Looking relieved, Matheson started to talk...very quickly. "Because it has unexpected side effects. We've been tweaking the design, but it's not been working so far. I was actually thinking of suggesting that this might not be possible. A good idea but one that won't work."

"What is it _supposed_ to do?" Tony asked.

"It's supposed to be something we could give to people going into areas of conflict where the combatants might not be following the Geneva Protocol prohibiting chemical warfare. Something like an advanced antidote. Instead of having to make sure that it was on hand at all times, it would be in the body ready to bind with any agent that would damage the body...kind of like a vaccine does with creating antibodies to fight off diseases. We've got it to the point that it will do that, but we can't get it to filter _out_ of the body safely. It either decays and destroys human cells or it kills beforehand through the modification of its structure in the binding process. It's killed a number of rats, and we can't seem to get around that. The structure of the binding agent is too complex. We haven't been able to figure out how to keep it from damaging the body while remaining _in_ the body and...and it's impossible that this drug would be used on a human being! What do you think we are? Monsters?"

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"This isn't... This can't be real. It can't be because that...the only people who have access to this drug are a few of my staff here and the head of research in Dover. No one else!"

Ziva stalked forward and thrust the image in Matheson's face.

"Look at this! This is the drug as found in the body of two people we care about. Two people who are _dying_! This is not a joke. This is not a mistake. If you wish to live your life outside of a very small prison cell and _not_ be labeled a traitor to your country and executed, you will stop saying that it is impossible and help us figure out how to save these two men! Do you understand me?"

Matheson nodded.

"What...are their symptoms?"

"I thought you said that you had experimented on mice."

"Rats...and rats can't tell you how it feels," Matheson said with a little bit of arrogance. "We can only measure things like respiration, elevated heart rate."

"One started having muscle spasms like you get with tetanus...to the point that it was keeping him from breathing," Tony said. "They have him in an induced coma. The other had a fever that wouldn't go away for two weeks and then, just this morning, he stopped being able to get the oxygen he needed into his body. Ring any bells?"

Matheson nodded slowly. "How long do I have to work on this?"

"As long as it takes me to get fed up and just shoot you," Gibbs said.

"I take it that's not very long."

"That would be a good guess," Tony said.

"Okay...okay. Uh...I need everything that you have on these two men and what's wrong with them. We never solved this problem before. That's why we weren't testing it beyond rats and simulations. I can't...really, I don't know why there was a human trial...or how they got permission."

"They did not get permission," Ziva said. "The men were placed on a ship in the Atlantic and left there to die."

Matheson paled and looked sick. His gaze kept darting back and forth from Ziva to Gibbs, from Gibbs to Tony, from Tony to Ziva. If he had known about this beforehand, he was the best actor in the world.

Gibbs seemed to agree. He lowered his gun slightly.

"Who do you work for?"

"AntiEP, Inc. It's just a small research firm. I was hired back in 2008 and I've been working on this project ever since."

"When we get this finished, I will want _names_."

Matheson nodded jerkily.

"Good. Do you need anyone else to come with you?"

"Where?"

"Bethesda, to the hospital," Tony said. "So you can figure out what's going on."

"Uh...I think that...I need...Melanie Lawson to come with me. She's the other main researcher here, my assistant. Uh...but...but the others should stay here in case we need them to run any tests. Is that all right?"

"Yes. Tell them. Now."

Matheson nodded and got out of his chair. Gibbs followed him very closely as he walked to the lab and explained what was going to be happening. He was very conscious of Gibbs' presence as he talked, but he _was_ clearly in his element being in charge and directing staff. Whatever else he was, he was competent and intelligent. He grabbed one woman out of the staff and spoke to her in a low tone.

Then, he cleared his throat.

"Uh...okay. I think we're ready. I need to, when we get there, do a complete examination of the two men that you've told me about. Data is great, but I need to see exactly where they're at at this moment in order to know where we're going go."

"How long will it take you?"

Matheson looked at Gibbs nervously. He swallowed.

"Shorter than it will take you to get fed up and shoot me?"

To Tony's surprise, Gibbs actually smiled a little.

"Let's go, Dr. Matheson."

"Okay. Melanie?"

Melanie was quite a bit younger than Matheson but she had a measure of poise that was lacking in the experienced doctor. She said very little but she exuded an air of competence as she followed Matheson out of the building. Tony found her stoicism to be a bit strange. No one was that calm. Not in a situation like this.

Gibbs drove them to Bethesda, the five of them crammed into the car. No one spoke, but Tony was watching Matheson and Melanie. Matheson was nervous but gaining some focus. Melanie...was like looking into a mirror. You stared and you saw nothing of the mirror.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan had never paid so much attention to his breathing before. If he survived this, he hoped that he could learn to forget to focus on his breathing again. Sam's words washed over him. Some of them didn't have much meaning. Others did. But through it all was this need to keep breathing, to try and get as much air into his body as he could.

Then, there was a hand on his arm. A man was leaning over him. This was someone he had never seen before. It was curious enough to get him to speak.

"Who...are you?"

"Dr. Matheson," the man said in a distracted tone.

"What–?"

"Stan, keep quiet."

"Boss?" Stan asked, trying to see around the man.

"Stan, he's someone who...helped design the drug."

"What?"

"He is not responsible for the attack on you, Stan," Ducky said. "He is here to try and repair the damage."

Stan breathed heavily and felt as though the air was vanishing.

"Agent Burley, you need to calm down. You're going to make it more difficult to breathe. Breathe slowly and don't get upset. Dr. Matheson is trying to help. Do not blame him."

Stan tried to calm himself down as the man who had helped make the drug that was killing him, that was killing Tim, continued to take his blood pressure, his pulse, his respiration. Another blood sample, a tissue sample. It was all done quickly and then he was gone. He had said all of two words. After he was gone, Stan couldn't help but reach out a hand to someone, anyone.

"Calm down, Stan," Ducky said softly, as he took Stan's hand. "This man is the best option. You don't need to worry. He will figure out what to do."

"Doesn't...he...already know?"

"No. He doesn't because the drug was not supposed to be tested on human beings yet. He was, apparently, shocked at learning what had been done."

"Want...to..."

"Sh. Stop trying to talk, Stan."

Stan hadn't thought about his family in ages. They were people he loved but they had been separated for a long time and he had not kept in contact with them...and they hadn't kept in contact with him either.

"Family..."

"Would you like us to contact them?"

He thought about it more. What good would it do? Not much at this point. If he was going to die, he'd be dead before they could even think about coming. If he wasn't, he'd rather wait until he was getting better to call them.

"No..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes..."

"Very well. Don't talk anymore. Just relax."

"Tim?"

"We're working on it for him as well, Stan. Don't worry. Let us do the work."

Stan finally nodded and tried to focus on breathing again. If only the air would do him some good.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Okay," Matheson said. "Where is the other patient?"

He was surprised at the glares he got. He wondered if this was one of these things that he just had a problem comprehending. People were so confusing at times. Finally, Dr. Banks gestured.

"This way. I'll take you."

Matheson nodded and beckoned to Melanie. She followed along, calmly as ever. She was unflappable which was why he enjoyed working with her. No matter what issues arose, she was able to deal with them, and she had the intelligence necessary to make progress. That was why he was becoming convinced that what they wanted to accomplish just wasn't possible. Sure, it would be nice to be able to safely run human trials, but not when death was essentially guaranteed.

...which was why he felt rocked to the core when he stepped into the ICU and saw the other patient. A tracheotomy? Induced coma?

"Wow," he said softly.

"That's not the reaction I would have expected," Dr. Banks said mildly.

Matheson looked over, happy to avoid seeing in more detail.

"I did not authorize this, Dr. Banks. This is not my fault! What I was trying to do was _save_ lives, not _end_ them."

Dr. Banks shrugged, clearly unimpressed.

"Get your examination done, please."

Matheson swallowed and nodded. This went faster because of all the monitors keeping track of Tim's vitals.

"What drugs are you using?" Matheson asked.

"Some of the typical treatments for tetanic spasms. Diazepam, phenobarbital, dantrolene, along with propofol."

"Okay. Where's the rest of the data? And I'll need space to work."

"This way."

Dr. Banks led them a conference room.

"You can access everything you'll need from this computer. If you need anything else, let us know."

"Thank you. I will," Matheson said.

Dr. Banks left the two of them alone.

"Okay," Matheson said. "I guess we should get to work."

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we can do this?"

Matheson smiled a little. "According to that Agent Gibbs, my life depends on it; so I guess we'll have to."

Melanie smiled as well. "All right. I guess we should get down to it, then. I'd hate to have to train another project head."

"All right. So...let's start with the simpler structure, the base and see what we can do. It's already decayed but we need to get it _out_ of the body."

"Once it bonds with the oxygen, shouldn't it begin to filter out anyway?"

"Eventually, but right now, it's damaging the body tissues. We can't wait for it to get done. We need to get it out right now. Otherwise, these two men will die."

Melanie nodded.

They started pouring over the data in the hopes of discovering a cure.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I don't like him," Abby said darkly.

"Like him or not, he's our best chance," Tony said.

"He may be our _only_ chance," Ducky said from his seat beside Stan.

Stan was still lying, staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily. His momentary panic had left him weakened even more than before.

"Is anyone keeping an eye on them, at least?" Abby asked.

"Didn't you notice that there's someone missing?" Tony asked with a slight smile.

"Where's Ziva?"

Gibbs said nothing. He was looking at Stan struggling for even the little bit of oxygen he was getting. He walked over to the bed.

"Stan?"

Stan's eyes moved off the ceiling.

"I expect you to live through this."

Stan smiled slightly but didn't speak. Instead, he raised a hand in the shape of a thumbs up.

"Good man," Ducky said.

"...trying..."

"No talking," Gibbs said with a light tap on Stan's head.

Another thumbs up.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Matheson and Melanie kept up their work for hours, not pausing except to grab something to eat. They had set up communication with the lab and had been running simulations over and over just to get some idea of what might work. Nothing had so far.

Finally, evening came and Matheson leaned back from his chair and stared at the ceiling.

"I don't know if we can do this, Melanie."

"We'll make it eventually, Clark."

"Eventually isn't good enough. There are two men whose lives hang in the balance here."

"You know...this might be a good thing."

"What might?" Matheson asked, sitting up in his chair.

"Haven't you said over and over that you wished there was some safe way to see how the drug would react in a human body?"

"Yes, I have, but that was always followed by the fact that we're nowhere near ready to try that."

"But someone has."

"And it's monstrous!" Matheson said. "Don't tell me that you think this is worth it."

Melanie shrugged. "If it helps us get a breakthrough, it's only a few men's lives. How many more are lost through chemical warfare? We could save more lives than have been lost here. A lot more."

"Only if it works, and you know that I've been getting skeptical." Matheson looked at the computer screen which was running the latest simulation...and a terrible thought came into his head. "Melanie...you aren't a part of this, are you?"

"What if I was?"

"How could you even _entertain_ the idea that something like this would be okay? These are real people, not computers!"

"Yes, and those who might die in the future are real people, too. What's your point?"

"My _point_ is that there is not one iota of..." He was so upset that he lost his eloquence. "...not one chance in a million that the drug as it now stands could do what we want it to do. Not one. There has not been one single success. Every rat has died. Every simulation ends in death."

Melanie shook her head in derision. "And how will we possibly get beyond this setback if we don't take some risks?"

"Risks? Risks are taken when there is some expectation of success. There was none. There _has_ been none."

"Do you know how many millions of dollars have been invested in this idea?"

"Not a clue."

"Do you know how long it will take to recoup that and how easily it could be done if there was a success here?"

"It's all about money?"

"Of course not. If it was only about money, we would be researching something that could save a much larger segment of the population, but money has to be a part of it. We can't possibly expect research like this to go on forever with no results."

"And so you're willing to commit murder?"

"Murder? They voluntarily received the drug."

Matheson stood up.

"And you know this, how?"

"What did you think, Clark? That the board would let you go on wasting their time and money after four years of nothing? Where do you think the data came from that allowed you to make the tweaks necessary to create the chelating agent?"

"You mean to...to tell me that..."

"You are the quintessential naive scientist, Clark. You think that this is an ideal world. Well, it's not. The real world has to consider funding as well as saving lives. And we can achieve both if we go beyond the bounds set by politicians."

"Those limits are there for a reason. Human trials _only_ come when you think there's a chance that they'll survive. From what I understand, not _one_ of those men survived."

"And these won't, either."

"What are you saying?"

Melanie reached over and deleted the latest simulation.

"Hey!"

"Clark, you have to realize that they'll be witnesses."

"So?" And then, finally, it dawned on Matheson just what Melanie was saying. He knew that it was rather ridiculous that he hadn't clued in before, but...well, Melanie had said it. He was naive.

...and when Melanie pulled out a syringe and wielded it like a weapon, he recognized that his naivety would probably lead to his death.

"So...what's in there?" he asked with a nonchalance that surprised him.

Melanie smiled. "Novichok-7."

Matheson gulped. "That wasn't supposed to be available to anyone except me."

"Wrong again, Clark. I'm sorry. You are a brilliant researcher, but we can't be stopped now. Just buying the nerve agents, bringing them up from the sea floor, that cost millions. A few regrettable deaths will be forgotten when we can..."

Matheson would be the first to admit that he was a weakling. Because his family had been wealthy, he had gone to special schools as a child. If PE had been required at those schools, he would have failed. Miserably. His only acknowledgment of the need for exercise was a short jog every morning and evening to keep himself from being sedentary. ...but now, he knew that, weakling or not, he had to at least _try_ to fight back, although Melanie would probably clean his clock. She had told him before about her training program. ...and yet, even at this moment, Gibbs scared him more than Melanie did.

He'd been taught more than once that one shouldn't hit a woman. Still, he swung his fist at her face but wasn't surprised in the least when she stopped him and shoved him back with one hand.

"You'd hit a woman, Clark? I'm shocked. You seem like such a gentleman."

"I don't see a woman. I see a monster," he said.

Melanie just smiled. "I'm sorry that you have to die."

The door behind them burst open and Ziva was standing there, her gun drawn.

"_You_ will be the one dying, Lawson, if you do not stop where you are," she said.

Matheson stared at her and then at Melanie. Ziva was more frightening. No question about it. The NCIS people were infinitely more frightening than the bad guys.

"Melanie, I think that she's telling the truth."

Melanie stared at Matheson with a smile.

"You're probably right."

"I assure you that I will not miss if you take one step toward Dr. Matheson."

Melanie sighed and put the syringe down. She raised her hands in the air.

"How long were you watching?"

"All day, with a five-minute break," Ziva said.

"Oh."

Ziva cuffed her roughly and took her out of the room. Matheson stood there, uncertain of what to do. His assistant had just been arrested after threatening to kill him.

Luckily, he didn't have long to wait. Ziva was back a minute or two later. She pointed at him.

"Are you all right?"

"You know...it's strange. I still think you're scarier, even though Melanie was going to kill me. ...and I can't believe that she would think that all this was okay. I mean, she's worked with me since I was hired. We were friends...I thought. But I was even ready to hit her, not that I would have succeeded. I'm kind of a wuss in case you hadn't noticed and..."

"Are you always like this?" Ziva asked.

"When I'm terrified, yeah."

Ziva laughed. "You make it very difficult to despise you."

"Thank you?"

"Have you made any progress?"

"No, but now I wonder if Melanie was sabotaging it. I will go back over some things and get the simulation running again. Agent David, I promise that I did not intend for the drug to be tested on human beings. That would have come but many years down the road and only if we had been able to stabilize the drug."

"I think I may believe you, Dr. Matheson. Do you need any assistance now?"

"It would be helpful."

"I think there may be a couple of people who would be willing."

"Do they carry guns?" Matheson asked.

Ziva smiled. "No. They do not, although if you anger them, you may still be in danger."

"Is there anyone who works for NCIS that wouldn't kill me?"

Her smile became sad. "The ones who would be most likely are the two men we are trying to save."

Matheson nodded.

"In that case, I'll try to save them."

"Good. I will send Abby and Ducky to help you."

Ziva left and Matheson let out a whoosh of air and then sat down at the table. He called over to the lab.

"Okay, guys. We've had a huge problem and we need to fix it. Melanie has been sabotaging our efforts all day. The last simulation needs to be run again and I'm going to read you the parameters. Tell me if there are any that were changed from what Melanie told you."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"His assistant was one of _them_?" Abby asked furiously. "Can I kill her?"

"No," Ziva said calmly. "Tony is going to be taking her to NCIS and Gibbs is going to interrogate her. And Dr. Matheson needs your help. Both of you."

"You think he is innocent in this?" Ducky asked.

"Melanie Lawson was going to kill him, and I do not sense any...I do not know the word."

"Guile?" Ducky suggested.

"Maybe. Whatever it is, he does not have it. He is a sheltered, intelligent man who is shocked at learning what some people are like."

"Okay. I'll help. Stan is getting worse," Abby said. "Dr. Banks doesn't know how much longer he has."

"Yes. We will both help."

"I hope you find something soon."

Ziva showed them where Matheson was working and then headed back to Stan's room. She paused in the doorway. Gibbs was sitting beside the bed. It looked like he was actually talking to Stan in a low voice. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but the fact that Gibbs was taking over the task of talking spoke to how serious it was. Stan was in the same position he'd been, but there was an expression of pain on his face. She stepped inside.

"Gibbs?" she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Tony has taken Lawson to NCIS."

He nodded.

"Stan, I'm going, but I'll be back and you'd better be alive still."

Ziva saw Stan give a thumbs up and Gibbs squeezed his shoulder before get up.

"All right. Let's go."

Ziva nodded and they left.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Ducky's head dropped and he jerked awake.

"Have we found anything yet?" he asked blearily. "What time is it?"

"Four in the morning," Abby said. "We're waiting for the last simulation to finish."

"And by last, she actually means the third one that should have been run yesterday but that Melanie ruined," Matheson said. "However, we got a lot of extra information from the work you guys did before and I have a good feeling about this one."

"You've said that about the last five," Abby pointed out.

"I prefer to hope for the best every time...granted there have been a lot of disappointments, but I still have a good feeling."

"You must do this a lot."

"Work all night, you mean?" Matheson asked.

"Yes."

"Absolutely. When we're on a roll, we just keep going."

"How long will it take to finish this one you feel good about?"

Matheson looked at the screen. "I think it's nearly done now."

"Good."

They fell silent and waited while the computer did its thing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I don't know what you expect me to do, Agent Gibbs. Fall apart with remorse? We sacrifice the few for the many all the time. That's what the military is all about. A few men and women to protect the rest of us."

"And so you're willing to kill them?" Gibbs asked.

"For the greater good."

"That's a load of crap."

"No," Melanie said. "That's reality. I know exactly what I've helped do, and if it hadn't been for the fact that your agents started investigating, we might have had the breakthrough that would have saved hundreds, if not _thousands_ of members of the military. A few men were willing participants..."

"Yes, and how much did you tell these _willing participants_? Did you tell them that they'd likely die? That their bodies would be left to rot out on a ship in the Atlantic? Did you tell them that no one would know what had happened to them?"

"Of course not."

"I hope you realize that you are the only person we have to charge with thirteen counts of murder and two of attempted murder. You haven't denied your part in this and if you don't help us..."

"I'll go to prison for the rest of my life? I'll be executed? Maybe so, but contrary to what you seem to think, I happen to have principles, Agent Gibbs. I believe in what's being done, in what's being attempted. I'm as willing to sacrifice my own life as I am to sacrifice those other lives. I'll bet you can't say that about most of the men who make the decisions to send soldiers into battle. How many of _them_ are willing to give _their_ lives?"

Gibbs looked at her and left Interrogation. He knew if he stayed there any longer he'd kill her...and he wouldn't give those people the satisfaction.

"Boss?" Tony asked.

"Get some sleep, Tony," Gibbs said. "She's not breaking tonight."

"I don't know if she'll break at all."

"Luckily, she's not the only person we have on hand."

"She knows more."

"I know."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Aha! I _told_ you I had a good feeling about this one!" Matheson said triumphantly. "Look!"

Abby looked over his shoulder as the simulation ran through to its conclusion.

"See? If we use _this_ combination, it will break up what's left of the drug and pull it away from the tissues and get it out of the system."

"That's what the simulation says," Ducky said. "How sure can we be?"

"We can't be any more sure than that," Matheson said. "There are two men. One of them will have to be the test. We can't take the time to try it on rats or in any other way."

"Why not? Don't we have–?"

"The worse your friend gets, the faster he'll deteriorate. It's like if you're running through a field of bullets. The more than hit you, the more that will. We need to make a decision. Who are we going to try it on first?"

Abby and Ducky looked at each other in concern. Tim was still in his coma and couldn't be brought out of it. Stan was on the verge of asphyxiating.

"To be honest, this is more likely to succeed with the one in the coma. He's already been stabilized and the drug hasn't started to decay. The other one is unstable and deteriorating fast. ...but it's not my choice to make."

"I know what Stan will say," Abby said softly. "He'll want to be first, to be the test."

"We can't ask Timothy, but I'm sure he would say the same thing. Neither one of them wants the other to be a possible sacrifice."

"But Stan is also the one who's suffering the most right now. How can we make this decision?"

Ducky looked at the computer screen.

"Start getting that ready," he ordered.

"But Ducky!"

"We can't make the decision, but we can ask the one who can."

"We _know_ what Stan will say!"

"But, my dear, we must give him the option of saying it. In a situation like this, we can't let ourselves make the choice when the one who will be affected most is available."

Abby nodded.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan had not dared sleep through the night. There was just the unending darkness while he tried to breathe. Off and on, there had been people there, but he was too far gone to listen to whatever they might have said and he couldn't expend the energy trying to figure out who they were. No, he just lay where he was, trying to survive.

"Stan?"

His name. Did it really require a response?

"Stan, we need to speak with you."

Ah, so it did. Stan opened his eyes and tried to focus. Ducky.

"Stan, we have a possible solution to this problem, but we don't have time to test it before we use it."

Stan bent his mind to decipher what had just been said.

"Stan, do you hear me?"

The meaning finally penetrated and Stan realized what they were saying.

"...me...first..."

"Are you sure? If we have this wrong, it will kill you."

"Me," Stan said again. He wasn't going to let Tim be a sacrifice, not after all he'd gone through.

He expended some precious energy to grab Ducky's arm.

"Me."

"All right. All right, Stan. Stay still."

Stan closed his eyes again and let himself go limp. That had been too much...again.

Suddenly, time had passed and there were a lot of people in the room.

"What's his name?"

"Stan Burley."

"Should I call him by his first name?"

"Whichever. Just get going!"

"Okay. Sorry. Stan...uh...can you hear me? Just open your eyes if you can hear me and understand what I'm saying."

Stan recognized the voice and he opened his eyes. Yes, that same doctor as before.

"Good. Okay...uh...we've got this all ready for you, but I can't even warn you what might happen. However, it will likely be a major shock to your system, because we needed it to work fast. We'll do our best to ameliorate any ill effects. There will be very little delay from administration to the time that you begin to feel it working...but I don't know how long or what you'll feel. I'm sorry."

Stan just nodded. It wasn't like there were any other options.

"Okay. I'm administering it now. Man...rats are much easier."

"Sorry to...disappoint...you..." Stan gasped.

"We do what we can."

Stan lay there, waiting for something to come out of whatever was being done. Suddenly, it felt like his entire body was clenching into a ball. As hard as it had been to breathe before, it was suddenly impossible. He heard voices and sensed some movement around him, but beyond that, there was nothing.

...until someone ripped the oxygen mask off his face. His body started to relax a little and he started to breathe again. To his surprise, it was easier than before. Not significantly, but a bit...and without pure oxygen.

"Keep breathing, but breathe slowly, Stan. You have a lot of oxygen in your body right now and it needs to get out."

"Where is it?" Stan panted. "I can't find it."

"Your body knows where it is and if you keep as high levels of oxygen in your body as you have right now, it could lead to oxygen toxicity. Just breathe slowly no matter how afraid you are of not getting enough oxygen."

Stan gradually felt his body unclench. It took forever, but after a while, another mask was placed over his face.

"This is a lower concentration of oxygen. We're just helping you stabilize, Agent Burley."

That was Dr. Banks. Finally, someone other than the one who had designed the drug.

"Keep breathing normally."

"Normally?" Stan whispered.

"Don't talk. You need to keep yourself calm and relaxed as much as possible. Someone will be with you at all times."

Stan nodded and closed his eyes. He tried to relax as ordered. There was someone sitting beside him, hand on his shoulder. It was nice to know someone was there...without having to look at whoever it was.

"What should we watch for?"

Gibbs.

"Seizures, twitches, frequent coughing, vomiting...and anything that causes Agent Burley some distress is a reason to call for someone to come."

"Okay."

"Stan, if you start having trouble again, you let whoever is with you know. Now is not the time to start being macho."

"Don't feel macho...at all."

"Good."

Stan smiled a little and kept breathing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Matheson sighed with relief as he walked out of Stan's room. Ducky couldn't help but smile a little, even as he felt some concern. Stan's sudden seizing had frightened them all. Matheson had actually kept his head and recognized what was going on. He had ripped off the oxygen mask and started giving orders about how to deal with what was going on.

Only when his responsibilities were done did he show how upset he was about what had happened. He ran a hand over his thinning hair and shook his head.

"So, I take it you have not been tempted to return to a practice?" Ducky asked.

"Not a chance," Matheson said. "I stopped practicing medicine as soon as I could."

"What possessed you to start it?" Ducky asked.

"I'm good at it," Matheson said. "I'm not good at anything else. I'm too wimpy to deal with anything. So I decided to do what I was good at."

"You have no passion for it?"

"For finding answers," Matheson said. "I always want to know the answers to the questions. It's not about the person with the problem. It's about the answer to the question. Having to treat a real person here...I have to admit that I'm not happy about having to do it. I'm glad it worked and I hope that it works permanently...but I don't want to do it again."

"Will you go back to AntiEP?"

"I don't see how I could. Even if I don't want to treat people, that doesn't mean I want them to die. I still can't believe that anyone would think this was okay."

Ducky felt a bit of pity for Matheson. He was a man who had thought he was doing something that would help people and had probably lived most of his life in a metaphorical bubble. The bursting of that bubble had been someone threatening to kill him and being shown, very dramatically, how terribly his work had been warped.

"Well, you have one more task to accomplish. We need to be sure that there are no modifications that need to be done before we give it to Timothy."

"We have another problem," Matheson said. "What happened with Stan was that we broke down the bonds between the oxygen and the drug or what was left of it. If we do that same thing with Timothy... we'll be freeing the nerve agent that was tested on him. Which will just put him back in an even worse situation."

"Oh, dear."

"Yeah. Either we'll need to have a treatment on hand, and you have to know that the treatments for nerve agents are sometimes as dangerous as the agent itself. That's one option. The other is, as you suggested, to modify it so that it doesn't break down. Instead, it will break the bonds and get it out of the body. The problem is that we've never been able to do that! That's the whole issue with what we've been trying for the last two years! I don't know how we can get a sudden breakthrough now."

Ducky put an arm around Matheson and led him away from Stan's room and back to the conference room. His own stomach was tied in knots with Matheson's declaration, but he decided that this doctor was someone who needed a person to encourage him and urge him on to the next step. He rather thought that was why Melanie was so good as his assistant. She was always unruffled and she knew how to deal with someone like him.

"I think we can do it. Would you have thought that it was possible to do what you managed with Stan?"

"No."

"Exactly." Ducky smiled.

"Okay. Okay. I think I need to get an hour of sleep. I've been working nonstop for a while and I know that I'll start to flag a bit if I don't."

Ducky nodded.

"Granted. Go into the room, take a rest and then we'll be back to work."

"Okay."

Matheson walked into the conference room and Ducky watched him lie down and fall asleep almost instantly. There was a lot to admire in him. He was so focused on what he needed to do. Ducky wondered if he ever took time off, or if he even _wanted_ to do something like that.

"Ducky?" Tony asked from behind him.

Ducky sighed. "We're not done yet. Now that we know how the drug reacts to the treatment, we can't just give it to Timothy until we're sure what will happen to the nerve agent in his body. There is a real risk here, Anthony. We may have saved one only to lose the other."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_Two days later..._

Stan woke up and inhaled deeply. This was the first time he'd felt like a breath was satisfying in a long time. Actually, he felt like he could connect with the world around him. He started to sit up but felt a hand on his arm, holding him in place.

"Stay down, Stan."

Stan opened his eyes and looked up. He smiled.

"Hey, Boss. Am I allowed to...talk?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Within limits."

"How limited?"

"If you start feeling breathless again, you aren't allowed."

Stan took another deep breath and then noticed that there was another supply air coming in through his nose. He felt that area of his face and realized he had a nasal cannula.

"What's this?" he asked.

"You're not ready to be breathing normally."

"I'm feeling a lot better."

"Good."

"Have you been here all this time? ...however long it's been..."

"Two days and no, I haven't. I have a job to do."

"How is that job going?" Stan asked.

"We've got some information but not as much as we'd like. Fornell has got the FBI investigating AntiEP."

"What's that?"

"The company that funded the research for the drug."

"And?"

"And we'll track them down. Eventually."

"Right."

"Stan, we will."

"What about that doctor?"

"He was completely ignorant of anything beyond his research. Apparently, he had no idea what was being done."

"Are you sure about that?" Stan asked. He had to admit that it was hard for him to be so willing to trust someone who had been responsible for his near death.

"We've checked him, Stan. He's responsible for the drug that saved you."

Stan looked away from Gibbs.

"What about Tim? Is he getting better now, too?"

"There's a bit of a hiccup."

"What?" Stan asked.

"I don't understand it all," Gibbs said with a bit of a smile.

"Tell me what you understand."

"Only if you promise to stay calm. You've been having breathing problems for two days. No way are we going through that again."

"Going through what?" Stan asked, confused. "Don't I have the hardest job in that?"

"Like you said about Tim...watching."

Stan swallowed and nodded. "Someone was here?"

"You were never alone."

"Thanks."

"You going to call your family?"

Stan shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because I love them enough to want to avoid adding any more awkwardness to our interactions. We have the yearly Christmas and birthday cards, the occasional email. That's enough."

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

"That's why you wanted someone around?"

Stan shrugged. "What about Tim?"

Gibbs sighed and Stan could see that Gibbs had hoped he wouldn't ask about this again.

"What's going on, Gibbs?" Stan asked and took a deep breath.

"Stan, the way they got that drug out of you was by breaking the...bonds or whatever with the oxygen in your body...which almost killed you...just having too much oxygen. McGee has a nerve agent in his body."

"What?" Stan asked. He started to sit up again, but again, Gibbs held him down.

"That was the test. They were trying to find a drug that would stay in the body and fight off any nerve agent that came in. You were the control. McGee was the active test."

"And if they break...the bonds...there'll be a nerve agent in his body, ready to kill him. What are they going to do?"

"They're working on it. They have been for two days nonstop. They'll figure it out."

"In time?" Stan asked.

"Yes. In time."

"You sure about that or this just another–?"

_Thwack!_

"Stop it, Stan."

"Stop what?"

Gibbs just looked at him and raised his eyebrows expressively. Stan looked away.

"Stan."

"Gibbs, you don't have to worry about me. Looks like I'll be okay."

"You were a part of my team."

"But I'm not anymore. I'm not on a team, Gibbs. I chose that and I like it."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean it's what you want."

Stan laughed...and then took a deep breath.

"With all due respect, Gibbs, I don't think you're the one to be lecturing me on making connections. From what I've heard, you spend all your free time in your basement...and that's even more than you did when I was working with you. If I'm happy with the life I've got, then, who are you to tell me differently?"

"You didn't want to be alone during this."

"No...I didn't...but not talking to my family is a far cry from being a hermit...and you're also not one to lecture me about talking to my family."

Gibbs smiled a little. "Point taken."

"Good. Now, am _I_ going to be okay?"

"Doctors don't know for sure yet, but they think so."

"Good. How long does Tim have?"

"We don't know. Matheson figures that the drug will start breaking down in his body, too, but with the nerve agent in there, he doesn't know how long it will take."

"Can I go and see him?"

"No."

"Gibbs, come on!" Stan said. "I'm doing better! You said so!"

As if to give lie to his words, Stan felt a little breathless and he had to stop talking in order to breathe.

"Stan, there was some damage to your lungs. They do think you're going to recover, but not yet, and you can't handle much more than lying around. I know you hate it, but deal with it because that's your only option."

Stan couldn't deny that he wasn't ready to be up and around...but it didn't mean he liked it. He didn't. At all. He hated feeling so helpless.

"How far have they got?"

"I don't know."

"Will you at least find out?" Stan asked. "Don't make me beg."

"I won't...make you beg."

Stan rolled his eyes but was relieved when Gibbs left, presumably to check on the progress that had been made. He tested out the possibility of sitting up and found himself exhausted by the effort. He leaned back and groaned. Now that he wasn't in danger of dying, he could go back to being frustrated.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs headed for the conference room where Matheson had been working almost nonstop for the last two days with the assistance of Abby and Ducky. So far, he had kept up his optimism, even in the face of failure after failure. Gibbs supposed that this was what helped him make progress, but Gibbs himself was worried. No one knew how long it would take before the drug would start to break down in Tim's body. Stan's reaction to the drug had been bad enough, but Tim could die without ever waking up. Soon, it would be a month since Stan and Tim had been taken from the ship.

He got to the conference room and saw Matheson by himself...asleep in front of his computer, head pillowed on his arms. It was about the first time the man had slowed down in the last two days.

"Dr. Matheson," he said tersely.

Matheson started out of sleep and looked around blearily. It didn't even seem to register that someone had said his name at first. He rubbed at his eyes and then looked at his computer. He pushed a few keys and then the presence of another human being finally pinged on his consciousness. He turned around and his eyes widened when he saw Gibbs standing there.

"Agent Gibbs! Uh...have you got fed up with me?" he asked.

Gibbs smiled. "No. How are you doing?"

Matheson sighed and looked back at the computer.

"I feel like I'm just _this_ far from figuring it all out, but I'm not there yet and since I'm not, I can't be sure because it won't work until I'm right. I don't know what it is I'm missing. It's really frustrating, and I don't want to be treating Agent McGee at the last minute like I had to with Agent Burley."

"I don't want you to, either."

"I have another simulation running, but I'm mostly doing this to see _how_ it's not working. I know it's not going to work."

"How do you know?"

"Because it doesn't make any sense in the context of what we want to do. We want to keep the drug bonded to the nerve agent but get the entire mess out of his body. I just want to see how this particular molecule affects the chelating agent. That might give me..."

The computer beeped at him. At the same time, his link to the lab came on.

"_Clark! Clark! Clark! Do you see it? Clark! Do you see?"_

Matheson turned around and looked at the computer screen again. Then, he jumped to his feet.

"_Clark, are you seeing the results?"_

"Yes! This is impossible. Did you change something before you ran it?"

"_No way! Not after Melanie...we set it up exactly like you told us to."_

"And it worked. It wasn't _supposed_ to work!" Matheson said.

Gibbs was surprised at how thrilled Matheson seemed to be about being wrong.

"_I know! Isn't it wonderful?"_

"Okay. Okay. Let's not jump the gun here...uh...figuratively speaking. We need to verify it before anything else. Run the simulation again. Make sure it will work. Check the settings. Make sure they're right. ...and _then_ start preparing it. Okay?"

"_Will do, Clark, but you know it's right! You know it even if you were wrong!"_

Matheson laughed and then turned around and grabbed Gibbs by the arms and began shaking him excitedly.

"Do you understand what this means, Agent Gibbs? Do you get it? Do you know how amazing this is?"

"No. Explain it to me," Gibbs said drily. He wasn't sure if anyone else would ever have dared do this to him.

"It worked! I didn't think it would! It wasn't supposed to! But it did! It worked! I think. I think it worked and I think that means that there's a solution!"

"Would you let go of me?" Gibbs asked.

"Oh...sorry." Matheson let him go and tried straightening his jacket, but Gibbs stopped him.

"Just explain in English and slowly."

"Uh...well...uh...that test that was running, the one I said couldn't work? Well, it worked. I don't know why...at all...but it looks like it did. I'm having my people run through it again to make sure there wasn't a glitch of some kind. If it works again, all they'll have to do is synthesize it and we'll be ready!"

"How long will that take?"

"A few hours, maybe. ...and if it works we could give it to him tonight."

"And how sure are you that it will work?"

Matheson shrugged. "I'm not, but the simulation says it will. That's the best I can do, Agent Gibbs. Your agent doesn't have an unlimited amount of time. And if we don't try anything at all, he _will_ die. ...but if we try this, it might work. Isn't it worth it?"

"This isn't just a problem on a computer. This is a real person. You tell me. Is it worth it?" Gibbs asked.

The question seemed to take Matheson by surprise. He looked at Gibbs as if he'd never heard the question before.

"Agent Gibbs...do you really think I'm that disconnected? Why do you think I asked _you_? Agent McGee _is_ just a problem on a screen to me. I don't know him from Adam. I support trying it because we're unlikely to come up with anything better while he's alive. ...but he's not my friend, my colleague. He's simply a human being."

"Nearly killed by a drug you designed."

"But not used by me," Matheson said firmly. "I may have lamented the inability to test it on humans, but I've never even suggested trying it because I knew what the result would be. You can't make me feel guilty for trying to help. I didn't make the decision to do that and if I'd been asked, I would have said no. So...do you want me to try this? If not, say so."

Gibbs smiled. So there _was_ some backbone in this doctor.

"You're the doctor."

Matheson raised an eyebrow.

"Then, I say try it."

"Okay."

Matheson nodded uncertainly and then turned back to his computer. He looked back over his shoulder once and then squared his shoulders and went to work.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Stan didn't care that he was feeling tired again. He was more irritated than tired. Dr. Banks, Ducky and Gibbs were all trying to get him to stop insisting on being there when Tim was finally treated. They had tried telling him that Tim would still be in his coma. They had said that he wasn't ready to be moving around yet...but Stan had finally found his spine again. His breath may not be back yet, but his stubbornness was.

"I am not sitting this out," he said. "I'll use the wheelchair. I'll keep the weird nose thing to help me breathe. I won't try to get up. I need to be there."

"Why?" Dr. Banks asked.

"Tim and I got into this together. I told him I'd be there for him. I'd watch his back. Even if I can't do anything about it. I'm going to be there. Either you help me get there or I try to get there on my own," Stan said and then had to breathe deeply to make up for the breath he'd lost.

"Stan, this is not necessary," Ducky said. "You have not given up your role in watching out for Timothy by letting yourself recover."

"No, Ducky. You're not going to...talk me out of this." Stan smiled as he panted. "Come on...don't make me keep arguing. It's bad...for me."

Ducky smiled. "You are impossible, Stan."

"I'm easy. Just take me where...I want to go."

Dr. Banks intervened. "Agent Burley. Stop straining your lungs."

"Then, stop trying...to convince me."

Gibbs stepped in as well.

"You don't move at all, Stan," he said. "You stay put and watch. No talking and no getting up. Clear?"

"Clear, Boss."

"Then, shut up and let us get you into a wheelchair."

Stan smiled, feeling triumphant and a little less helpless. He didn't protest when Tessa insisted on lifting him into the wheelchair. He didn't argue about the IV or the oxygen supply. He was happy to be leaving his room and getting to Tim's room.

When they got there, Stan was shocked anew at seeing Tim the way he was. Tim's parents were absent, but Matheson was there, leaning over Tim's machines, and Stan had to keep himself from questioning what Matheson was doing. He looked up when the others came in. His eyes fell on Stan and then flicked back and forth from Tim to Stan and back again.

"Wow. You guys look about as bad as each other...except that you don't have a tracheostomy, Agent Burley," Matheson said.

"Am I that bad?" Stan asked in surprise.

"More or less," Ducky said. "You've had a hard few days."

"Oh." Stan hadn't really considered how much he himself had changed from his own brush with death. Now, he started to wonder but it actually made him a little nervous; so he moved on.

"Uh...where are the McGees?"

"They are getting Timothy's sister from the airport. With the uncertainty attached to Timothy's status, they didn't want us to wait. They'll be here as soon as they can."

"Oh. Okay," Stan said.

"I've been checking Agent McGee's status and I think we're ready," Matheson said.

"Are you sure?" Dr. Banks asked.

"Yes. I'm sure. It's not going to change in an hour or a day...but for all we know, Agent McGee might."

"Okay. Get on with it," Gibbs said.

Matheson just smiled.

"Because Agent McGee is still in his induced coma, we likely won't see the same kind of instant reaction that we saw with Agent Burley...but, of course, we'll need to keep our eye on his stats to make sure that we don't have the same destabilization that we had with Agent Burley."

"Destabilization?" Stan asked.

"Sure," Matheson said.

He was irrepressible at the moment. He seemed almost giddy. As unsure as he was of him, Stan found that he didn't have it in him to try and get rid of that giddiness. It wasn't worth the effort.

"What's going to happen?" he asked.

Matheson looked at him.

"Very similar to what happened to you. We inject the drug and we wait...and hopefully, we'll start to see a difference, but without the same kind of damage that we saw with you. You almost died and that was not something I anticipated."

"I hadn't planned on it, either," Stan said and took a deep breath.

"I'm sure you hadn't, but we've taken that reaction into account and so long as the drug doesn't let go of the nerve agent as it did your oxygen, we should be fine."

"Go on, Dr. Matheson," Ducky said.

Matheson nodded and injected the contents of his syringe into Tim's IV line without any kind of flourish. Then, they all sat back to watch.

...and it was the most blissfully boring hour they had spent...because nothing happened. Tim continued to breathe. His heart rate remained at the same slow beat it had been. There was a slight fluctuation that signaled the spread of the treatment, but beyond that, there was no reaction. Tim's family came near the end of that hour.

"Stan! You're up!" Naomi said with relief.

"More or less," Stan agreed.

She leaned over and hugged him gently.

"I'm glad. How's Tim doing?"

"The same as before...but hopefully better."

"We'll know more after we do the next blood and urine tests," Matheson said. "We just need to give the drug time to circulate and do its thing."

"You're the doctor who designed it?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

Sam rolled over and held out his hand. "Thank you for helping our son."

"It's my job," Matheson said, and where that was something a lot of people would say in the same situation, it was clear that, for Matheson, it was nothing less than the truth. He was just doing a job.

"Thank you anyway. It may be your job, but it's our son."

Matheson nodded.

"We'll be keeping him in the coma until we're sure that the treatment is working," Dr. Banks said. "Until we've run a few tests, we won't know for sure."

"How long will that take?"

Dr. Banks looked at Matheson.

"We'll run the first tests later this afternoon. If we get the results we expect, then we'll run another test in the evening. Then, if _that_ works out, we'll start to pull him out of the coma and let him wake up," Matheson said.

"If he doesn't show any sign of seizures," Dr. Banks added, "then, we can get him breathing on his own, but we won't want to remove the tracheostomy until we are sure that he won't be relapsing."

"So if everything goes right?" Naomi asked.

"Then, tomorrow when visiting hours begin again, your son should be on the mend. It will take quite a long time. After everything he has been through, it won't be an easy recovery, but he'll have a chance to get back to normal."

"Can we stay here for a while with him?"

Stan looked at the younger woman who must be Tim's sister. Her eyes kept darting back and forth from Tim to her parents to the doctor and back. She seemed uncomfortable with everything that was going on...but perhaps this wasn't something she had any experience with. He still knew very little about Tim at this point.

"Of course...until visiting hours end," Dr. Banks said. "We'll be in and out a lot, but you can stay here until then."

Tim's sister instantly sat down beside her brother. She reached out to touch him and then pulled her hand back, as if afraid of hurting him. Then, she looked back and saw Stan watching her. She smiled tremulously.

"I'm Sarah."

"I'm Stan," he said.

"Mom told me that you were...with Tim on the boat."

"Yeah."

She walked over to him. Then, she hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear.

"I'm so glad you were there for my brother. Thank you _so_ much."

Stan felt a tightness in his chest that nothing to do with his ability to breathe.

"My pleasure," he said softly.

Sarah let him go and blushed a little bit.

"Sorry. It was really hard to get back here and seeing Tim like this is really hard, too. ...but I could not be seeing him at all."

"Agent Burley, you've been up long enough. You need to get back to your room," Dr. Banks said.

Stan nodded. Naomi leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Relax, Agent Burley," she said and smiled.

"I'll work on that."

"Good."

Stan let Gibbs pull him out of the room.

"Where's the rest of your team?" he asked.

There was a light tap on the back of his head.

"I don't remember you being so chatty, Stan."

"Where are they?" Stan asked again.

"Working. They're coordinating with the FBI to track down the bad guys. What did you think?"

"Hanging out...relaxing," Stan said.

"Not until we get these guys. None of us are relaxing."

Stan nodded.

When they reached his room, Tessa appeared from nowhere to help Stan get settled in his bed.

"Now, you need to _sleep_, Agent Burley. I am not going to tell you to rest. I'm going to tell you to _sleep_. If you won't do it on your own, I'll be happy to help you."

"I don't want any more drugs...in my body if I can...help it."

"Promise me that you'll sleep."

Stan could make that promise easily. He didn't want to admit it, but he was exhausted just by being up for an hour.

"I promise."

"Good. Sleep well."

Stan leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply again.

"Stan?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"We're going to get these guys. Don't worry about that part. Tim is going to get better. You just focus on your own recovery."

"Yeah, sure."

"I wish I could believe you."

Stan just smiled and let his body relax enough to get to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

What was happening? It was like fighting through thick undergrowth in a forest, knowing that there was a clearing just out of sight...but not quite getting there.

He struggled against the webbing holding him back, but it was really hard and he stopped, just out of exhaustion. Too much undergrowth.

For a long time, he was just lying there, not bothering to get to the clearing.

Then, he started to wonder, again, what was going on. He fought to get to the clearing.

He almost made it.

His eyelids lifted, just for a second.

"Tim."

Back into the undergrowth.

"Tim, are you awake?"

One more try. If he didn't make it this time, he'd give up. He pushed through the undergrowth and opened his eyes.

The lights were very dim and he didn't see anything at first.

Then, he felt a hand on his arm.

"Tim."

He looked down at his arm and then followed the hand up to a face he recognized.

His mouth shaped the name, but, rather belatedly, he realized that he wasn't breathing through his mouth. In fact, he wasn't controlling his breathing at all.

_Stan,_ he mouthed.

"Hey, Tim. You're still on a ventilator. Don't try to talk."

Tim blinked a few times and started to see better. Stan looked _awful_. He was pale and gaunt and looked like he'd been through the wringer. What had happened?

_What happened?_ Tim mouthed.

"Don't you remember?"

Tim lifted a very weak finger and pointed it to him.

"Me?"

Tim nodded.

Stan smiled. "There were extra problems, but I'm fine."

Tim saw the nasal cannula and an IV...and finally noticed that Stan was in a wheelchair.

_Fine?_ Tim asked silently, raising his eyebrows.

"I will be...and so will you...eventually. They're making sure that everything is going to work right before they let you breathe on your own again. It's been...harrowing. It's about three in the morning right now. I tricked them into letting me sit by you while you were waking up. It's been a while."

Tim thought about that...slowly. His brain felt sluggish at best. Then, he remembered the pain, the outright agony that had accompanied consciousness for him before. He looked at Stan with frightened eyes.

The hand on his arm tightened.

"It's okay. I told you that you were going to be all right, and you are. They figured out what was wrong and they've been fixing it. They're looking for the people who did it and it's all going to be okay. I'll wait until you can ask questions before I tell you everything. This isn't fair to you, not to be able to ask anything."

Tim smiled a little.

"The important thing is that it's all okay. The rest can wait."

Tim really didn't understand it all. He wanted to, but he didn't...but right now, he'd trust Stan. Stan had been there through it all, had kept him alive. If Stan said it would be okay, then, Tim would believe him.

_What now?_

"Sleep. That's what they keep telling me."

Tim nodded once more and let his eyes close.

He fell asleep, knowing that Stan was there and would watch his back.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

It was two full days before they were able to wean Tim off the ventilator, remove the tube from his throat and let him breathe on his own, through his mouth. Tim still couldn't talk much at all, but he was able to breathe. He had managed a soft whisper but that was all.

However, even with that complication, Tim was doing so much better that he didn't complain. Much. It was clear that he was frustrated by the restriction _and_ by his weakness. The seizures were gone, but his coma had reduced his muscle mass and he was weak, to say the least. It was going to take physical therapy to get him back to full form, and Dr. Banks had said that it would be at least two months before he was ready for even a little bit of his normal routine.

...and Tim had no voice (or energy) to argue with him, but progress was being made and everyone was ecstatic to see it.

Stan was recovering as well, and while his recovery was also slow, he didn't have the added issues of the induced coma that Tim did and so he was up and around...almost.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So...they're alive. Both of them."

"_Yes. Looks like they're on the mend."_

"And where does that leave us?"

"_I don't know."_

"They are living evidence of what's been going on."

"_I would have thought you'd be more worried about Dr. Matheson."_

"Oh, we'll take care of him. It's only a matter of time, but those two agents are in a secure facility. Only hospital personnel stands any chance of getting to them."

"_You can't be saying what I think you're saying."_

"The situation hasn't changed."

"_What you're asking is... I can't do that."_

"Can't? You're willing to–?"

"_Look, you can't ask me to kill them! That goes against _everything_ I believe."_

"Including the Hippocratic Oath?" The tone was intentionally sardonic.

"_You were supposed to have people who were going to deal with that if the issue came up."_

"It's not going to work. From what you've told us, there is too much security in the hospital. Sooner or later, they're going to both be in a position to give information, and the one agent is too good with computers to be held off forever. The FBI is starting to investigate our practices. Do you know what that means? If we get caught...so do you."

"_I can't. I can't kill another person."_

"Right. You've already done _that_ once. Remember?"

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"They had better be dead within the next 48 hours. I don't have to tell you what might be revealed if you don't."

The man hung up the phone.

"Well?"

"Well, you'd better start making a plan. Dr. Matheson is still at large, and no one knows more about the project than he does. Once they start talking to _him_..."

"Melanie hasn't said anything yet."

"Melanie cares about what we're doing. Clark only cares about solving the problem. If it comes down to it, he'll do what he's told by NCIS."

"The body count is getting too high. We're going to have to cut our losses as it is."

"Cutting our losses means not being discovered. When the losses are infinite, cutting does no good. Matheson and the two agents need to die. If we're lucky, we can get all the data gathered and sent to the secondary site before the FBI clues in."

"And if we're not?"

"There are other fish in the sea...and we still have all those nerve agents we dragged up from the sea floor."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"No...fair..." Tim whispered. "Mom told you...about me..."

Stan grinned.

"It's not my fault that your parents are so proud of you."

Tim smiled. He was still confined to very short statements, and he was not able to move much at all. Every so often, he'd lift a hand up to the bandage covering his tracheostomy. It would take a few weeks for the hole to heal up.

"I...can't talk. Your...turn."

Tim managed to get an ice chip into his mouth although the movement was clumsy.

"Okay. What do you want me to talk about?"

"How...did you get...to...NCIS?"

"I applied."

"Don't...make me...hurt you," Tim said with a smile.

"You and what army?"

Tim lifted a limb and managed a flex before dropping it back to his lap.

"Why NCIS?"

"Because I love the ocean."

"Why NCIS?" Tim asked again.

Stan was quickly seeing that Tim could be just as stubborn. Even without a voice, he was still focused on getting an answer to his question and Stan could see that he wasn't going to be put off. He himself still got breathless pretty easily, but he was improving...and he had a lot more breath than Tim did.

"It was an escape at first," he said, almost to himself.

"From?"

"From what I was supposed to be doing," he said with a smile. "You told me that you fought against reality every day. So did I...only the reality I fought against was the reality my family wanted for me. My family has a very successful business in Minnesota. We're one of the silent millionaires in this country. We never lived large. Our business was successful, and we reaped the rewards of it. My grandfather started the business. My dad continued it. ...and my sisters do now because I abandoned the family to pursue other dreams. My dad died when I was in high school. I think he would have supported me, but he wasn't there. I was a senator's aide for a while and that was prominent enough to be a worthwhile endeavor...but I love the ocean. When I started looking into careers that would let me be there, I hit on NCIS...and the Agent Afloat program. I worked on Gibbs' team for five years, but I never intended to stay there...and Gibbs and I...well, that's a long story. I couldn't have worked for him for much longer than I did. I've never regretted going to Agent Afloat. I prefer it to any other situation."

"Your family?" Tim asked.

"We don't see each other much. In fact, I haven't been back in...years. We don't talk much, but if I called, we'd chat awkwardly for a while, hang up and not talk again for a while longer."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Stan said. "I'm not. This is the life I chose to have. I knew how it would be. I'm not a big social guy. Never have been."

"High school?"

"I wasn't a part of any group. I got along with pretty much everyone."

"Figures," Tim said and smiled.

"I'm the quintessential peacemaker. I don't make waves and I get along. It's the way to go when you're the only law enforcement representative in a carrier group. That's about 7500 people. People who could...look at me as the bad guy. I'm not their friend, but I'm friendly. It makes a difference." Stan had to stop and breathe for about a minute. "It's why the skipper on the _Nimitz_ lets me come back over and over again. People trust me."

"I...trust you," Tim said.

"That's because I was right," Stan said.

Tim grinned.

"These...people..."

"Apparently they thought what they were doing was worth it, but we'll find them and tell them how wrong they were."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay," Tony said. "The building in Dover is empty. That means that there's something else that we haven't found."

"Well, your Dr. Matheson told us that Melanie mentioned a place in Norfolk where they gave out the drug," Fornell said.

They were touching base after another unsuccessful day of trying to find the people pulling the strings for AntiEP. Melanie had refused to talk. No threats had managed to get her to reveal anything. Gibbs had tried. Fornell had tried. Even Vance had taken a turn. Nothing. She was secure in her belief that she was doing the right thing by staying silent.

"Any sign of a permanent space there?" Ziva asked.

"None. We've checked out every place that we could think of and nothing doing. What about the ship?"

"It was fully wired for remote observation," Abby said. "...and that means that they were _watching_ all those men die! Sickos."

"It's clear from the analysis of the drugs that we collected that many of these men suffered in the same way that Timothy and Stan did. One with just the drug and the other with the nerve agent."

"That's all well and good," Fornell said, "but that's not helping us find these guys. If we're delayed much longer, they'll get out of the country if they're smart at all, and we won't be able to get them. DHS is starting to rumble about the possibility of them trying to sell this drug as a potential source of interrogation. They don't want it to fall into enemy hands."

"If you talk to Melanie, you'd think these guys were the greatest patriots since Washington."

"I'm skeptical," Fornell said drily.

"What's next?" Gibbs asked.

"We keep going," Fornell said. "I don't know what the breakthrough will be. Now that Matheson is finishing up closing down that lab, maybe we could get him to help us out more."

"We'll get him in here tomorrow," Gibbs agreed. "You can have the honor of questioning him."

Tony and Ziva both started to chuckle.

"What?" Fornell said.

"Let's be charitable and say that Dr. Matheson is a...unique individual," Ducky said. "He will be more than willing to be helpful."

"Oh, yes," Ziva said.

"Okay," Fornell said. "I'll be back here tomorrow for the joy."

He strode away. Another day was nearly over and that was disappointing...but also a relief because there was still so much to do and it felt like they weren't making much progress at all.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up at the sound of someone moving around in his room. He cracked open his eyes and saw someone standing at the foot of his bed...in the dark.

Who was it? Why was he there? ...and why wasn't he moving? How had he got in?

There was no movement for a long time, and Tim started to get afraid. He wanted to get help, but he wasn't sure he should try to move. For one thing, moving was difficult for him.

...but what was going on?

"Hey...who's there?"

_Stan!_ Tim thought anxiously.

"Dr. Banks...what do you think you're doing?"

Tim's eyes flew open and saw Dr. Banks leaning over him...a syringe in his hand.

No.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Stan stood where he was, afraid of making Dr. Banks feel cornered. It wasn't like he was much of a threat. Stan knew that his muscle tone was currently low. He could walk from his room to Tim's room and that was about it.

"Dr. Banks, what are you doing?"

Dr. Banks looked back over his shoulder at Stan and then down at Tim who was staring up at him with frightened eyes.

There was a timeless moment where no one was moving...and then, Dr. Banks dropped the syringe and sank onto the chair by Tim's bed.

"Nothing," he said, burying his head in his hands. "I can't believe I was even considering it...even for a second."

"Considering what?" Stan asked, still afraid to move.

"I had to choose...your lives or...or my career...which _is_ my life. It's all I've ever wanted and it's all I have...but I can't do it. I just can't do it."

"Why were you going to kill us?" Stan asked.

Dr. Banks sat there without looking up. It was like the danger had passed without ever really existing. Stan didn't feel like there was any risk of Dr. Banks making another attempt. In place of the silhouetted menace was a broken man. He shook his head.

"You'd better call Agent Gibbs and tell him to come and arrest me. There are things he'll need to know."

Tim looked at Stan in surprise. Things had changed so very quickly that it was hard to wrap their minds around what had happened. First, the shock that Dr. Banks would kill one of his patients, then, surprise when he so easily capitulated.

Stan shrugged and walked over to the phone beside Tim's bed. He picked it up, tensing just in case he was misreading Dr. Banks.

"Gibbs...you need to get over here."

"_Why?"_

"Because Dr. Banks just...tried..." That wasn't exactly true. It didn't look as though Dr. Banks had tried at all. He'd just stood there. "...It's complicated, but you need to get over here."

"_What did Dr. Banks try to do?"_

"Get over here, Boss. How many times do I need to tell you?"

"_Okay."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs tried to find it in himself to hate the man sitting across from him, but he couldn't. It was far too clear that Dr. Banks hated himself more than Gibbs ever could.

"Explain yourself," Gibbs said tersely.

Dr. Banks lifted his head.

"Last year, I was contacted by an anonymous person telling me that they knew what I'd been hiding. I don't know how they found out. I thought I'd covered my tracks."

"What did they find out?"

"That I'm responsible for the death of a patient...not through malice but through human error. I'd been on duty for a full day. There was a crisis. I made the wrong decision and the patient died. I knew that I'd never get to do what I'd always wanted to do with that on my record. So I changed my name, went back to medical school, went through all the hoops to get re-certified. I've never lost a patient that could be saved since then. There is nothing I wanted in my life besides to be a doctor. I have no identity beyond that. I couldn't do anything else. They told me that I had to help them or they'd tell everyone who I really was. You can look me up if you'd like. Chayce Graham. Doesn't matter anyway. Until your agents came, all it involved was running tests occasionally and sending the results to them."

"How much did you know?" Gibbs asked. "Did you know how to help them?"

"No!" Dr. Banks said firmly. "I swear that I did the best I could. I knew that it was part of their experiments, but I knew nothing about how to fix it."

"You knew who they were?"

"No. I only knew that there was a group running my life. I've never seen them in person. I've never talked to them except on the phone. I have emails. You can have them."

"And this time?"

"This time, it was on the phone. They said that I had to kill Agents Burley and McGee or else they'd tell everyone who I was. I was going to, but I couldn't. I stepped into Agent McGee's room and I couldn't do it. I'd already lost a patient because I didn't realize that I was impaired in my judgment. I couldn't intentionally..."

"Is there anything else?" Gibbs asked.

"You'd better make sure that Dr. Matheson is all right. I think they're going to try and take him out of the picture, too. ...and I'm sure that they'll try another route since they've failed with me."

Gibbs looked at Dr. Banks as he slumped down in the chair and stared at the table. He looked completely defeated. Any means chosen to punish him wouldn't be as harsh as the punishment he was already inflicting on himself. Before Gibbs could think about it any more than that, his phone rang.

"Gibbs."

"_Hello...Agent Gibbs. I think that...I may be in some trouble."_

"Dr. Matheson?"

Dr. Banks raised his eyes and looked genuinely worried.

"_Yes. I think there are...multiple people following me. Unless NCIS or the FBI has decided to set some people on me, I'm thinking that I'm in danger."_

"How many are there?" Gibbs asked, getting to his feet. He walked out of the conference room, pausing only to gesture for the agent on duty to keep an eye on Dr. Banks. As he went on his way, he stopped at Tim's room and grabbed Tony and Ziva to come with him.

"_At least three seem inordinately interested...considering that I'm no great catch in the looks department. I'm really quite nervous."_

In spite of his own worry, Gibbs almost laughed at Matheson's manner of speaking.

"Where are you?"

"_Well, I usually try to go running...well, really, it's jogging in the evenings and the mornings if I can. I'll do only one or the other if I need to, but..."_

"Dr. Matheson!"

"_Oh. My apologies. There's a park with some running trails near the lab. Since I've been working there, I haven't really gone home. I needed to get some fresh air; so I decided just to do a slow circuit."_

"No one from the FBI detail came with you?"

"_I don't think they know I left, actually. Was I supposed to tell them?"_

"Yes...but it's too late to fix that now. Are they moving in?"

"_Not at the moment. There are a few other people around."_

"Good. How many people?"

"_Eight...and two dogs."_

"Can you stay in their vicinity?"

"_I can try, but some of them run a lot faster than I do."_

"We're on our way to you, and Agent DiNozzo is calling the FBI to tell them that you're in the park near the lab with some suspicious people tailing you," Gibbs said, raising his eyebrows at Tony who nodded and did as he was told.

Ziva got in the driver's seat and they sped off toward the park.

"_What if they start coming toward me?"_

"How fast can you run?"

"_I don't know. I never jog very fast. I'm not really a runner. I'm not really an exerciser, but I know that it's more healthy if you're not sedentary. So I do something."_

"If they start coming toward you and you're mostly isolated, then you run as fast as you can away from them. Try to find a big group of people. Whatever you do, don't give them a clear shot at you because if they're trying to kill you, they may just try to do that."

"_I'm really nervous, Agent Gibbs."_

"Good. It'll keep you on your toes."

"_Right. The adrenaline. It acts on all body tissues. Did you know that? But the actions actually vary in different tissues. It's just amazing how the body works. I've never really felt this kind of adrenaline rush. The technical name in this country is epinephrine. It's actually used as a treatment for anaphylaxis and cardiac arrest, asthma. It's an amazing hormone. It triggers the fight-or-flight response which I'm definitely feeling right now. Quite strongly, in fact. Uh-oh. Um...Agent Gibbs, I think that I'd better obey that stimulus telling me to run."_

"Then, do it, but run toward people and don't stop and look back. It won't help you. ...and don't drop your phone."

"_Yes, sir!"_

Gibbs heard a thumping sound which must be Dr. Matheson's tread. He wasn't quiet. At all, but from the frequency of the thumps, it sounded like he was quick.

"Step on it, Ziva," he said.

"FBI is running to the park," Tony said.

"Good," Gibbs said as he braced himself against Ziva's erratic driving.

As they neared the park, there was a lot of commotion. Gibbs could hear shouting, but he couldn't understand the words. Then, there were a number of gunshots and a huge thump. He could hear heavy breathing.

"There is the park," Ziva said.

"Which part of the park is he in?"

Tony looked around and spotted a lot of movement through the trees.

"Over there!" he said, pointing.

Ziva swerved violently in the indicated direction, screeched to a stop and they jumped out of the car, running toward the chaos, guns drawn.

When they reached a clearing, they saw five people on the ground, one bleeding...and unmoving, three in handcuffs...and one lying on his back, staring up at the trees above his head. He was breathing heavily.

Tony and Ziva were looking around, but Gibbs nudged them and smiled. He pointed to the one man lying on his back.

Matheson.

"Dr. Matheson," Gibbs said loudly.

Matheson sat up and looked him. An instant response, not a moment of hesitation. He never reacted the way one would expect.

"Agent Gibbs. I hope you're not fed up with me."

"No. Not at all."

Dr. Matheson managed a shaky smile. "Good. I don't know if I could tolerate getting shot at more than once."

"You all right?"

"Physically, I have no injuries. Emotionally...I'm unsettled. Do you have any idea how dull my life was before NCIS showed up?"

Tony grinned. "We have that effect."

Ziva put out her hand. Matheson stared at her for a moment and then took her hand and allowed her to pull him to his (admittedly shaky) feet.

"I thought that I was too boring to kill, but I've had one threat and two attempts in just the last few days. ...and I'm still alive. I thought I was too wussy to survive something like this."

Ziva laughed. "Apparently, you are neither too boring nor too wussy."

"I guess not...or it's just that people who are more exciting and tougher are helping me out."

"That might have something to do with it," Gibbs said.

Matheson nodded. "I really didn't think it through, Agent Gibbs. I was just following my routine. I go jogging in the evenings. So I went jogging. I didn't think they'd be lying in wait. Am I that important?"

"Yeah," Tony said. "You know everything about this program. You know the people involved."

"Not really. I know Melanie. I think I met a few of the bigwigs when I was hired, but..."

"Melanie's not talking. You're the only witness to the business side. They already tried to get someone to kill McGee and Stan."

"Really?" Matheson said. "Why?"

"They're living witnesses to what was done to people. You're the witness to everything else. They're trying to cut all the ties to this project. You're one of the loose ends and so are my agents," Gibbs said.

"Wow. I'm important enough to be a loose end. Huh. What now?"

"Now, we take you into protective custody until we track these guys down. I don't know how wide their influence is, but we need to make sure that you're safe."

"How are you going to do that?"

"For now, we'll take you to the hospital. Having you all in one space will make it easier for the short term."

"I hope there's no long term," Matheson said.

"So do we," Ziva said. "For now, come with us."

Gibbs walked over to the FBI agents.

"You have this under control?" he asked.

"Yeah. We'll see what these guys are willing to say. You've got the doc?"

"Yeah. We're moving him to Bethesda."

"All right. Fornell is going to ream us. I can't believe that nerdy doctor got by us."

"If it makes you feel any better, he wasn't trying to."

The agent groaned. "You know that it doesn't. It's worse."

Gibbs chuckled and walked back to his group. It was a distinct relief that Matheson had not been killed through inattention, that Tim and Stan hadn't been killed through subterfuge, but they needed to get these people. It was bad enough that they'd been willing to kill other people through some twisted idea of saving others, but to be willing to kill to cover their tracks removed much of the altruism.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim took another deep breath and let it out slowly. He was trying to keep himself calm, but to have a person he had trusted ready to kill him had unsettled him to an extreme degree...especially with the realization that he would have been powerless to stop Dr. Banks.

"Hey, Tim. How are you doing?"

Tim jumped and then tried to calm himself down again. He was embarrassed at how tense he was right now.

Stan walked over and sat down beside him.

"You're stressed out. Understandable. So am I."

"You're...not showing it," Tim whispered.

"He wasn't trying to kill me."

Tim smiled. "Yeah...me, first."

"He had a change of heart."

Tim nodded. "I...almost feel sorry for him."

"Almost."

"He hurt himself more than he hurt me," Tim said in the same soft voice that was all he could manage.

"Yeah. I wonder what stopped him."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dr. Banks sat in the conference room, carefully writing out everything he could think of that would be useful to NCIS. His last act as a doctor. He could see no way that he could continue as a doctor now. Not only had his history come out, he had prepared to kill a patient. Intentionally.

No one could despise him as much as he despised himself. He would make sure that they knew everything he knew.

Then, there was nothing left.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

They got Matheson safely back to Bethesda without incident. He was assigned to an NCIS agent and was also specifically instructed not to go anywhere without him. He had smiled good-naturedly at the ribbing, but they did have the distinct impression that he had needed the guideline given to him. He was just that kind of person.

Gibbs set him to the task of describing everyone he could remember, plus giving all the details about AntiEP that he knew.

"All the details?"

"Yes. Everything."

"That's a lot, Agent Gibbs."

"I know. Do the overview first, and then fill in the gaps."

Matheson nodded, and Gibbs was beginning to think that he'd got the hang of dealing with this doctor. It was an awkward combination of extremely high intelligence and low social skills...but he thought that he'd figured it out. But now, there was still the other doctor...who was more complicated in his own way. He sent Tony and Ziva to check on Tim and Stan since he knew that was what they were worried about anyway, and he headed back to the conference room.

"He's been writing in there since you left. Hasn't moved," Agent Draney said softly.

"You're sure he's alive?"

"Yeah. He's still breathing, but I get the feeling he wishes he wasn't."

"That's what I was afraid of." Gibbs looked at his watch. It was getting pretty late, but this might be important. "Call Ducky over here if he can come."

"Of course."

Gibbs stepped into the conference room.

"What are you doing, Dr. Banks?"

"Giving you everything I know," Dr. Banks said. "There's no point in holding anything back. You already know the worst. Everything else...well, maybe it will help."

"What are you expecting to come from this?"

Dr. Banks stopped writing and looked at Gibbs for a moment, as if trying to discern what was intended by the question.

"I expect to lose everything...everything I should have lost but couldn't give up when I let a patient of mine die," he said. "I expect to lose my license. I expect that I'll go to prison. I expect that I'll end up with nothing except the knowledge that of all the things I've done wrong in my life, at least I didn't kill anyone because I meant to. The only blood on my hands will be from a patient I tried to save, rather than one I tried to kill."

"You didn't try very hard."

Dr. Banks set down the pen. He stared straight ahead.

"It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have even _considered_ it. I just had a dream of being able to live my life in the way it was supposed to be, the way I had always seen it and I saw it slipping away. I deluded myself that I could live with committing murder. That's not what a doctor does. A doctor doesn't consider killing someone to keep his job. It doesn't matter how much he loves his job, how much he wants it. The _job_ is about helping people. If you have to kill in order to help, you don't deserve the job. I've proved that I don't. I don't deserve what I want so much. I deserve to lose it all. Any time I spent thinking about it was too much time."

Gibbs could see that he couldn't do anything about this at the moment. Dr. Banks needed someone who could identify with his position. That would have to be Ducky for the time being.

"I still have more to relate," Dr. Banks said.

"Okay. I'll let you get back to it."

"Is Dr. Matheson all right?" he asked.

"Yes. He's fine. A little on edge, but he wasn't hurt."

Dr. Banks nodded and then looked at his paper. He picked up the pen again and started writing. Gibbs watched him for a moment and then left the room.

"Keep an eye on him. When Ducky gets here, send him over to Agent McGee's room. I need to talk to him before he talks to Dr. Banks."

"Will do," Agent Draney said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"...and I think that there would be some kind of implosion of we got you and Ducky and Dr. Matheson together," Tony was saying as Gibbs joined them.

Tim was lying in his bed, of course. He was a bit twitchy after what had happened, but he had a smile on his face as he was listening to Tony talk. Stan was sitting beside Tim. He was looking a _lot_ better, although he still got breathless. There was some damage to his lungs and it would take plenty of time before he was back to full functioning. However, he was settling down more now. He was less antsy than he had been.

"Yes. He is like a cross between the two of you. I do not know if the world could take it...and if you added Abby to it..."

"I think the universe would implode," Tony said.

Tim let out a whispered chuckle. Then, he saw Gibbs and eloquently asked for information by raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, Boss," Tony said. "What's the word with Dr. Banks?"

"Not sure yet."

"What's going on?" Stan asked.

"Dr. Banks is taking full responsibility for what he did. He was being blackmailed by these people."

Tim shook his head. "They're taking...or ruining lives everywhere they go...aren't they."

"Yeah."

"What's going...to happen...to Dr. Banks?"

"Don't know yet," Gibbs said. "I think if we left him alone, he'd probably try to kill himself."

"What?" Tony asked. "But he never..."

"You should have seen him in here, Tony," Stan said. "It was like a different person."

"He did so much to help us. I can't believe that he wanted to kill us."

"He didn't. They used something from his past to try to get him."

"How are we going to get them, Gibbs?" Ziva asked. "This cannot continue...and what if they try to kill Stan and Tim again? Until we have names..."

"Matheson is working on it right now," Gibbs said. "He claims that he didn't meet very many people, but I think he knows more than he thinks he does."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Tony said. "He's weird." He laughed. "I like him. I didn't want to, but I do."

"We've got an agent watching him," Gibbs said.

"And we had to tell him not to leave the guy behind," Tony said, chuckling.

"So we're safe for now?" Stan asked.

"Looks like it."

"I don't...really feel very...safe, Boss," Tim said.

Gibbs smiled, walked over to the bed and pulled out a knife. He put it in Tim's hand and curled his fingers around it.

"Not much...muscle tone."

"If it comes down to it, you'll be able to use it."

Tim smiled. "Thanks for...the...encouragement."

He reached out for his omnipresent ice chips. Gibbs smiled. It was hard seeing Tim like this, but he was happy to know that Tim was finally getting better rather than hovering in that netherworld.

"Jethro?"

Gibbs turned around. Ducky was there, waiting to speak with him.

"Hey, Ducky!" Stan said.

"Hello. I'll be back here in a little while, but I have another assignment first."

"Out in the hall," Gibbs said.

"Of course."

Gibbs went out into the hall and checked that they were relatively isolated.

"What is it?"

"I need you to talk to Dr. Banks."

"About what?"

"Convince him that his life isn't over."

"Are you saying that he's suicidal?"

"If he's not, he's doing a good job of pretending."

"Oh, dear. What happened? I feel like I've missed something important."

"He was blackmailed into trying to kill Tim and Stan."

"What? How could they? I would wager most of what I own that he was trying hard to help them."

"He was, and he apparently made it as far as walking into Tim's room. He made no attempt."

"What did they blackmail him with?"

"I don't know the details. He said that a patient died in his care and that he changed his name and went back to medical school. And now, he says that he's lost everything. I don't know. Maybe he's right."

"He could be, but I'd have to know the details of what happened before and now."

"I don't know the details but...I don't think he's a bad person, Duck. And I think that it would be a shame to have his life ruined by these people."

"I'll see what I can do, Jethro, but I can't make any promises."

"I know."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky paused and smiled at Agent Draney before he stepped into the room. Dr. Banks was sitting at the table. He'd clearly been working before, but he'd stopped and was staring off into the distance.

"Dr. Banks?"

"Probably shouldn't call me that, Dr. Mallard. I won't be a doctor for much longer."

The depression was clear in his voice.

"But you _are_ a doctor now, and a good one."

Dr. Banks let out a humorless laugh. "Did someone send you to cheer me up? It's not necessary...and it's impossible."

"Actually, I'm here to speak with you."

"About what?"

"Your situation."

"I'm a hopeless case, Dr. Mallard. I almost killed two people you care about. I'm not sure why you're worried about me."

Ducky sat down at the table.

"Tell me."

"What?"

"About yourself."

"I'm a fraud," Dr. Banks said, not looking at Ducky at all. Now that everything had fallen apart, he seemed to have no problem with telling what had happened. "I was a resident. We had crisis after crisis. Suddenly, it was 24 hours later...and there was another crisis. I was the one there. It was my patient. Her name was Maria. Twenty years and I can still see her...slowly dying because I completely missed the real problem. There was no reason for her to die except for my own incompetence. I've lost patients, but it was because there was nothing I could do to save them. I could have saved her, but I was so tired. Her parents were there. They watched her die. After she died, they said that...that there was nothing I could do to bring back what they'd lost. It didn't matter if I saved a thousand other people. Their daughter would still be dead. I'd ruined their lives. I lost my wife."

"What?"

"She left me. Couldn't stand being with a murderer. I decided that there was nothing about me that was worth preserving. I changed my name, hid who I was and went back to school. I fast-tracked through the early stuff, looked like a genius. I learned from what happened. I've never worked on so little sleep. I outright refused when they tried to get me on that kind of a schedule. And now I've ruined my life again. The only good thing is that I didn't kill anyone on the way."

Ducky sat back. Before this, he had seen Dr. Banks as a devoted, competent, well-adjusted doctor. He had not seen this dark side to him. To have it so overtly displayed was almost a shock. Like Gibbs, he didn't think this was a front. It was far too easy to check everything he'd said.

"They used that event to force you to attempt to kill your patients?" he asked.

Dr. Banks nodded.

"What will you do?"

"I'll tender my resignation, present myself to the Maryland Board of Physicians and lose my license...and with it, my life."

"You don't have to lose your life."

Dr. Banks looked Ducky. "You don't understand. My job _is_ my life. It's the only thing I have. I have dedicated everything I am to trying to make up for that horrible moment when I realized that I'd killed my own patient."

"Did you never talk to anyone about it?"

"You mean therapy?"

"Yes."

"No. Didn't see the point. The only reason I didn't automatically lose my license twenty years ago was because the family decided not to file a claim. It was a mistake, they said. A mistake that killed their daughter. It didn't matter because everyone looked at me as a killer anyway. My colleagues avoided me. My wife left. I couldn't imagine that anything would make that better."

No therapy and twenty years of relative solitude to ruminate on a horrible event which had led to nothing but loss...to the point that he had abandoned his identity. What a tangled web it was.

"I would venture to say that it would. I realize that this is still painful for you, but did you wife ever suggest it?"

"Therapy? I don't really remember. I think about that part of my life as little as possible. I can go days, even weeks without thinking about it. I don't know how they found out. I don't know what opened that chapter up to them." Suddenly, Dr. Banks leaned forward, desperately earnest. "Dr. Mallard, I swear to you that I would never have done _any_ of this on my own. I know it can't change what I've done, what I thought I could do, but if it had been almost anything else, I would have said no."

"I believe you," Ducky said. "Can you believe me when I say that things may not be so dark as they seem to you?"

"No," Dr. Banks said and smiled sadly. "I can't believe that. I'll lose my license for this. It doesn't matter that I didn't do it. It matters that I gave in to blackmail, that I hid Maria's death at my hands, that I changed my name. That's what matters, not that I didn't go through with it. And being a doctor is the only thing I've ever wanted in my life...and saving lives now...it lessens the pain of the life I took."

"You may indeed lose your license...but it doesn't have to be a permanent event."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that, with proper advocacy, you could have your license suspended for some period of time and then be permitted to practice again."

"And who would want to let me practice with my history?"

"I don't know the minds of people who make those kinds of decisions, and perhaps you are correct and a hospital like this one wouldn't want the risk, but do you need a high-profile position in order to be fulfilled? Is saving the life on this level more important than saving a life, for instance, at a clinic for low-income families?"

Dr. Banks didn't answer.

"Having worked in a number of capacities throughout my life, let me tell you that saving a life is a glorious event whether that life belongs to a general or to the lowliest soldier. It doesn't matter if it is a president or a factory worker. Saving a life, giving needed care is always something that one never forgets. And if you can learn to let go of a mistake made in the past, you have a chance of gaining a future...perhaps even as the self that you deemed unworthy of living."

There was a moment of silence and then, the brilliant, qualified doctor broke down in tears and began to cry.

The time for words had passed. Ducky scooted closer to Dr. Banks and put his arm around the broken man's shoulders.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Matheson finished typing up his overview. He saved the document and then copied it to a new document and began to fill in the details. There was so much to say, but how much did they really _need_ to know? Did it matter that the employees at the lab had fluctuated quite a bit over the years? Did it matter that there were typos in the confidentiality agreement everyone had to sign? Did it matter that there had been times when a few of the bigwigs had stopped by for an update? They were all details, and for Matheson, equally important, but looking at Agent Gibbs, it seemed unlikely that he _really_ wanted _all_ the details.

He remembered that they had wanted names. So he decided to start there with filling in the details. The names and descriptions of everyone he had interacted with...or rather, at first, everyone who had been over him. It was just a guess, but he thought that they would want to know those holding the purse strings.

As he worked, he started to think about everything that had been said. Writing down details that were already in his brain and carefully categorized didn't take much thought. He could use more of his brain trying to understand these strange people and the events surrounding them.

What was reality and what was the illusion? Melanie had said that they were trying to do both: make money and save lives. But was that really true? _Could_ it be true when all they really seemed to want was to cover their tracks by committing murder?

That forensic scientist, Abby, had mentioned how they had found the agents by sifting through the layers of the illusion that had been placed over the location. What was it she had called it?

"Fata Morgana." He typed the phrase into the computer and did an online search.

A complex layering illusion that took an object that existed and distorted it...to the point that the original object was unintelligible and then reflected it multiple times on top of itself, right side up and upside down.

This whole thing was a kind of Fata Morgana. There was a kernel of truth at the center: the idea of trying to save lives through the design of an advance antidote. That truth had been distorted so many times through so many deaths and ruined lives that the truth was invisible. A Fata Morgana was often a short-lived event. Perhaps this would be as well. Perhaps not. There were more layers added on, further distorting the good clear object at the center. A doctor's life ruined through blackmail. Two men who had weeks, if not months of recovery ahead of them, families mourning their dead, threats of violence, attempts at murder. They had distorted that reality until the reality was so distorted it couldn't even be seen.

A thought came to him in the midst of this reflection. It was a strange thought, one that was hard for him to comprehend. He said it out loud, just to be sure he understood it.

"Maybe it's better not to know some things. Maybe some people just can't take these things without ruining them."

Could that be possible? He wasn't sure, but it was a thought that deserved further investigation.

..._after_ he'd finished making a list of important people.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

_Two days later..._

"Okay, talk to me," Gibbs said.

"Interpol has not seen any of these men and women that Dr. Matheson described," Ziva said. "So far, either they have not left the country or else they have left but not yet arrived officially anywhere else."

"What about their identities?"

"Verified so far," Tony said. "The four biggies that Dr. Matheson mentioned all have training in medicine." He clicked to bring up the info on the plasma, momentarily pausing to remember that Tim would probably be doing this part if he were here.

"Go on."

"Right. Jamie Ryers. Received her M.D. twenty years ago. Lost her license to practice after some...ethical violations in California. Loren Griggs and Charles Bonner, worked together in research and left their jobs back in '95 although not before they had a few reprimands for going beyond the limits the lab had set. And the last is Michael Miller. He attended medical school but didn't finish it. He's a lot less trackable. After dropping out, he shows up here and there but never for more than a few months at a time. Not with a job, either. He hasn't paid taxes since '98."

"No sign of them?"

"Nothing on the BOLOs. There's an alert on them at all the airports, but these are people who could afford to buy a decommissioned Navy ship. They can afford to disappear if they want to...and they clearly want to."

"We need to find them," Gibbs said. "Before they can try again. As long as they're out there, Tim, Stan and Dr. Matheson are at risk. ...and probably Dr. Banks as well."

Mentioning Dr. Banks made him stop and think for a moment. He stared at the pictures on the screen and then he looked more closely at Miller.

"Where did Miller go to medical school? And how far did he go?"

"Uh...can I ask why?" Tony asked.

"Give me an answer, DiNozzo."

Tony started looking through the information, missing Tim yet again. "Uh...UC Davis. He finished his first year of residency and then dropped out."

"Where did Dr. Banks' originally go? When he was still Chayce Graham?"

Then, Tony got it and typed in the information. He looked up at Gibbs. "UC Davis. He was a resident at the same time Miller was starting out."

"So that is how they found him. Did Miller join the group first or come in later?" Ziva asked.

"Don't know. We won't know until we track them down. Lawson still isn't talking."

"Okay. Tony, get Keating to see if Cybercrimes can follow the trail of money to a physical location. Ziva, go talk to Dr. Banks. See if he remembers Miller."

"He was admitted for psychiatric observation, Gibbs."

"I know that."

"Of course." She nodded and left.

"Boss, we may not be able to get these guys. I mean, it's just that they're so far ahead of us."

Gibbs looked at Tony.

"We need more hands. The FBI is working on it, but they've got their own angle. We're working on it. Lovitz' team is on guard duty. We just don't have enough hands here."

Gibbs nodded. "You're right. We _do_ need more hands."

Tony's eyes widened.

"I wasn't suggesting _that_, Boss."

Gibbs grinned. "I know."

"You'll need a computer."

"I know that, too."

Tony sighed. "I'll get one from Cybercrimes."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva sat in the small visiting room and waited. She wondered just how changed Dr. Banks might be in the two days since they'd got him to voluntarily commit himself. The door opened and he shuffled in.

He had changed. For one thing, he no longer looked like a doctor. He still looked broken.

"Dr. Banks," she said.

He sat down.

"Thank you for being willing to speak with me. I know that..."

Dr. Banks looked at her. "No need to thank me, Agent David. It's the least I could do. What is it?"

"We did not wish to burden you with revisiting your past so soon, but there is a man we would like to see if you recognize."

"Sure. That's fine."

Ziva pulled out the picture of Michael Miller and slid it across the table.

"Do you know this man?"

Dr. Banks picked up the picture and stared at it for a little while in silence.

"I'm assuming you think that I should since you're asking. When would I have known him?"

"When you were a resident."

"Do you mean the first time?" he asked softly.

"Yes."

"Oh." He looked at the picture again. "It's been a long time...since I let myself think about it."

"I do not wish to cause you grief by asking you to think about it again, but..."

Dr. Banks just shook his head. "He might be familiar. What's his name?"

"Michael Miller."

Dr. Banks looked up. "Michael Miller?"

"Yes."

"I remember that name. He was a first-year resident. He burned out really fast. I was the one who had to report him for stealing prescription drugs from the pharmacy. That was the year before..." He broke off and looked at the table. "Funny the things we remember."

"Yes. Yes, it is. He was addicted?"

"Actually, I don't know if he was using or selling. I caught him, red-handed. He asked me to give him a chance and I said that I couldn't. We'd been noticing problems with the stock for months. When I caught him in the act, I knew he was the reason why. He admitted it and I turned him in. He said that I'd ruined his life." He laughed a little. "At least I was consistent."

Ziva just nodded. She didn't know what to say to that kind of declaration.

"Why did you need to know this?"

"Because it appears that he is one of the people running AntiEP...and it explains why _you_ were chosen, how they found out."

"So...he got his revenge, then."

"It would seem to be the case."

"Oh." Dr. Banks swallowed, stared at the table and then at Ziva. "Will this help?"

"I think it will. The more we know about them, the more likely it is that we will find them."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about them sooner. I could have and I didn't."

"Thank you for your help, Dr. Banks. Really. I do not know if it would have made much difference if you told us before."

Dr. Banks nodded but looked unconvinced. He got up.

"If you have any other questions, you can ask me."

Then, he walked out of the room. Before Ziva herself could leave, Dr. Banks' psychiatrist came in.

"Agent David?"

"Yes?"

"Will there be a lot of questions you need to ask Dr. Banks?"

"I do not believe so. Why?"

"Because he's having a lot of trouble. It's as if twenty years of pain just came crashing down on him all at once. He's not ready to spend a lot of time in that part of his past. We're working on the beginning of all this, but it'll be slow-going."

"I understand. We will not trouble him unless it is absolutely necessary."

"Thank you."

Ziva left the hospital and headed back to NCIS. She felt more disturbed by speaking to Dr. Banks than she had expected. As horrible as what Tim and Stan had gone through was, she almost thought that Dr. Banks had suffered more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs walked through the hospital, a laptop tucked under his arm. Perhaps this was something unorthodox, perhaps medicine would say it was wrong, but he was sure that this would help. Tim had been moved out of the ICU just that morning, and the hospital staff had decided to have Tim and Stan sharing a room. It just made more sense.

It made it easier for Gibbs to implement his plan, too.

He knocked and stepped inside.

"Boss..." Tim whispered. "What's up?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't you be working, Gibbs?" Stan asked.

Gibbs evaluated the two agents (and he still thought of _both_ of them as his). Were they ready for what he was about to propose? Tim still had a heart monitor and a nasal cannula. He was still pale and wasn't yet ready to start physical therapy. Stan didn't appear to be hurting at first glance, but the very fact that he was content to lie in that hospital bed showed how much had been taken out of him by the last few weeks. Stan had also confessed to Gibbs that he was talking with a psychiatrist.

Gibbs decided that he would risk it.

"I'm asking you if _you're_ ready to work."

Tim smiled. "I can't go into the field...Boss."

Gibbs grinned in reply.

"That's not what I'm asking you to do." He held out the computer.

"What do you want, then?" Stan asked.

"Keating and the rest of Cybercrimes are tracking the money. I want you to track these guys down."

"The money should...should lead you there, shouldn't it?" Tim asked.

"It may not. It'll lead us to the money, not to them. We need to track the individual people down. Credit cards, phone records. You're the best one we've got for that."

"I'm not...exactly at the...top of my game."

"You don't have to be. This is a big enough case that we've got a lot of people working on it, but they have to leave a trail somewhere."

Tim looked over at Stan and then back at Gibbs.

"I...won't be fast."

"You have to be good and you are."

"Stan will have to...help...but he's good, too."

"I know."

"Gibbs, are you sure that we can handle this?" Stan asked.

"He really means me," Tim added.

"You get tired, you stop working."

"I have a link?"

"Yep."

Tim looked at the laptop in Gibbs' hands and then he looked at Gibbs.

"Okay, Boss. I'll try it."

"That's all I ask."

He set the laptop on Tim's lap and then looked at Stan.

"You take that from him if he starts to get tired."

Stan grinned. "He wouldn't be able to lift it himself."

"Exactly."

Tim smiled. "I'll let you know."

Just before Gibbs left, Tim cleared his throat.

"Boss."

"Yeah?"

He turned back. Tim lifted his hand...holding the knife Gibbs had given him. His hand trembled with the effort.

"I've got it," he said.

"And you could use it."

Tim nodded.

"Good."

He left them to work, knowing that they'd get as much done as they could.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby stared at her monitor. There was so much to do, so much to figure out. She had all the information from the Northeast Field Office, and she was _sure_ that there would be something that would help in all the evidence she had sitting around. What she was trying to do was break down the information in those cameras. They had to be going _somewhere_. It was a wireless connection, but she was sure that she could track down the place of origin. How far away could the signal be going? She didn't know that either.

"There has to be _something_. And I will find it because these guys don't deserve to get away with what they did. I _will_ track them down and there will be so much evidence that they'll get smothered by it. ...and I'll help smother them."

"I don't advocate general murder, Abigail."

Abby turned around.

"I don't like this, Ducky. There's so much that could still go wrong. These guys. They're just...evil."

"I agree. They have left only pain, suffering and death in their wake. I hope I can help find them. I have more information from their victims. Perhaps something that will help."

"What is it?"

"I may have the order in which these men were brought to the ship."

Abby opened her eyes wide. "Oh!"

"I don't know if that will help track them down, but it will be more to add to the case against them."

"Lay it on me," Abby said. "I want to get all I can."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony stared at the Cybercrimes people. He had given Keating the explanation of what they needed to do, and he had gone into a huddle with the others. Then, there was a pause.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

"Yeah?"

"How...open do our methods need to be?"

"Meaning?"

"We wouldn't do anything _illegal_...strictly speaking, but...it might be...construed as being a little bit...below the level."

"Will it help you track the money path?"

"Yes."

"Then, do it. ...and be careful."

Keating nodded. "We want to get these guys. They're...they're scum."

Tony smiled. "Okay. Just remember that we don't want them to get off because of illegal methods."

"Right."

Tony left them to it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There were so many people working on it that they were bound to find _something_. It was impossible to say who would be first.

...but the next move wasn't made by NCIS.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"You misjudged Graham."

"Apparently."

"We're not going to get to him, not in psychiatric lockdown."

"Guess not."

"Matheson is out, too. Your people screwed that up."

"So...what now. Are you saying we just give up trying to get rid of the evidence?"

"I'm not even sure we can get out of the country. They're watching for us. They got the ship."

"Maybe they'd be distracted by some deaths."

"Are you suggesting that we'd be able to get into Bethesda?"

"Maybe not all of us, but one."

"You're suggesting Miller, aren't you."

"He's been our go-to guy for this stuff so far."

"He may not be able to get in."

"If he gets caught..."

"He's always made _me_ a bit nervous."

"So...no downside."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Matheson had never been confined to one place for so long before. He'd _stayed_ in one place for weeks on end when a new research method had come out or when he'd been on the right track for something. ...but to be told that one _had_ to stay in one place. That was troubling. He understood the reason for it and he wasn't going to try and get away, but that didn't mean he appreciated it. The agent guarding him had traded places. He supposed he should be sleeping, but he wasn't tired. His mind was running through too many ideas at the moment. He'd really like to talk with someone about them. The woman guarding him now seemed nice enough, but he'd really like the opportunity to talk with someone he knew...even slightly.

He walked out of his room.

"Agent Weaver?" he asked.

"Yes? What is it, Dr. Matheson?"

"I'd like to go to Agent McGee's room, if I could."

"It's three in the morning, you know."

"Oh...well, could we go there anyway? If he's asleep, I'll come back."

Agent Weaver smiled. "Okay. Let's go."

Matheson nodded and walked through the halls, letting Agent Weaver direct him when he didn't know where to go. He rather thought that Tim would be asleep, but he wanted to see him _not_ in a coma if possible.

When they arrived at the room, Matheson was surprised to see Tim awake. He wasn't doing anything in particular. There was a laptop on a table beside his bed, but it was off. He was just staring at the ceiling. There was a curtain drawn between his bed and Stan's, giving them both a little bit of privacy.

"Agent McGee?" Matheson whispered.

Tim looked over and he blinked in surprise.

"Dr. Matheson?" he asked.

Matheson looked over at Agent Weaver for a moment. She smiled and took up a position outside the door.

"What are you...doing here?" he asked.

"I wanted to talk to you...if you don't mind."

"I guess I don't...but why now?"

"I'm awake now."

Tim smiled. "So am I. Come on in."

Matheson sat down beside Tim's bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better...now that I'm not having seizures every...few seconds."

"That's what was happening?"

"Yeah. It started out less, but it got so that I had them almost constantly."

Matheson nodded.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" Tim asked. "Because I gave all the details I could to Dr. Banks before. Poor guy."

"It's not about the details. It's about...do you think that what I was trying to do was wrong?"

"What were you trying to do?"

"Solve the problem that was given to me."

"Not save lives?" Tim asked, smiling a little.

"Not really. I mean, I was glad that lives might have been saved by what I was trying to do...but really, I was just trying to solve the problem."

"Would you have stopped if someone had told you what was going on _before_ all this happened?"

"You mean if they had told me they were doing illicit experiments?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that would have been illegal."

"Is that a yes?"

"Of course. If you break the law, the work can't be done at all and the problem won't be solved. ...and I'm not for killing people. It's...messy."

Tim's laugh was raspy but it seemed genuine.

"I can...see why the others find you so interesting."

"Why?"

"Because you don't react like one would expect. No protestations of saving lives. No pretense of really caring about the people. It's all...really academic to you isn't it."

"Well, I'll admit that it wasn't so academic when people were trying to kill _me_."

"It rarely is."

"I've never really thought about the idea that there might be things we shouldn't be trying to do...problems we shouldn't be solving. Do you think there are things like that, Agent McGee?"

"You can call me Tim. You're not acting as my doctor and I'm definitely not acting as an agent right now."

"You can call me Clark, if you'd like. Not many people do. They say that I'm too weird to be familiar."

Tim laughed again.

"To answer your question, Clark, I think that most things are worth knowing. The problem isn't the questions...the problem is what human beings might do with the answers. Generally, things are pretty innocuous left to themselves, but we can't leave them that way. We have to probe to see...how far we can go, and there are people out there who...can't be trusted with them."

Matheson considered that idea. It was such a strange way of thinking for him. He'd always just looked at the questions with the potential answers. He hadn't considered what else could be _done_ with what he'd found.

"How do you tell?"

"I don't know the answer to that question. Seems like we're usually too late to stop it before it gets too far. That doesn't mean we can't keep looking for answers, though. What you thought you were doing was good, and maybe even what those people were doing was a good idea to start...but the ends can't justify the means."

"I was thinking that all this stuff that happened...it's the optical illusion."

"Huh?"

"Abby told me about the Fata Morgana and it fits with what happened here. A Fata Morgana changes the original object until it can't be seen anymore. All these murders...they've taken what could be a good thing and warped it until the good it could have been is completely obscured."

"I hadn't really thought of it that way."

Matheson nodded and then he smiled.

"I'm really not stupid, you know. I still remember, back when I was a kid, my parents sat me down and said that I didn't think like other people did. It was okay, but I had to know that because I could get frustrated if I didn't remember it. I couldn't expect people to react the way I thought they should...and I should know that people would think that I was a bit strange, too."

"I don't think you're stupid, but your mind does seem to work differently. There isn't anything wrong with that."

"I don't really know what I'm going to do after all this is over. Jobs have just kind of...come to me. I haven't had to think about it much."

Tim smiled. "You'll probably have it pretty easy after this, too. I can't imagine that people wouldn't want to hire you."

"Maybe...but I can't get any references."

"No, probably not. NCIS would probably be a reference if you needed one. You saved my life and Stan's life. That's a pretty good reference." Tim took a deep breath.

"Oh, you're still needing to breathe more. I'm sorry."

"That's all right...but I think I need to...take some time off talking."

"Right. It is late. I'll get back to where I'm staying. Thank you for talking to me."

"No problem. It was nice to...meet you when I'm conscious and coherent."

Matheson nodded and left the room.

"I'm ready to go back now," he said to Agent Weaver.

"Good. You think that you'll sleep?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

They started to go back, but as they passed a doctor walking down the hall, Matheson paused. His mind really did work differently from other people. He had always been frustrated by Halloween. No one had really seemed _different_ to him. Even when their faces were covered by masks, their builds and their strides had been exactly the same and he had a hard time pretending that he couldn't see that. He also didn't generally forget someone once he had met them. He might dismiss them, but he didn't forget them. The information was still in his head.

...and this doctor seemed familiar to him. He wasn't sure why, though. He didn't see his face. He hadn't really figured out what it was.

"Dr. Matheson?"

"Yeah?"

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure."

"Do you need some time here in the middle of the hall to think about it or can you go back to your room?"

Matheson took a few vague steps in the right direction, but his mind was on the doctor, not really on where he was going.

Something wasn't right.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim smiled to himself as the door closed. Matheson was definitely an interesting guy. He'd enjoyed talking to him, as strange as the conversation had been. It was just a different kind of chat than he could have had with any other person. It helped that Matheson was so earnest. He wasn't _trying_ to be difficult. It was just the way he was.

The door started to open again...this time without a knock. Tim tensed and grabbed hold of the knife he kept right by him at all times. He had it hidden beneath the blanket, but his hand was never far from it. So far, there had been no reason to worry, but that didn't stop him from worrying. There was always a chance that someone would get by the guards on duty. He closed his eyes to narrow slits and looked toward the doorway.

The man who came in was dressed like a doctor, but he didn't move like a doctor.

That was not a good thing. Tim tightened his hand around the knife but he didn't move. The man started to walk forward. As he approached, Tim saw him pull out a scalpel. That was worse because it meant that he wasn't trying to cover his murder as some kind of mysterious accident. He was going for blood and all he wanted was to get away with it.

That meant no holds barred. Tim wasn't sure he could win, but he could last long enough not to lose. If he made noise once the scuffle started, Stan would jump into the fray...and hopefully not get killed.

The man moved carefully across the floor, quiet...experienced. This wasn't the first person he'd killed. That made Tim's blood run cold. He was more than a little worried about this. Unlike Dr. Banks, this man would not have a change of heart...if he had a heart to change.

_A little bit closer,_ he thought to himself. _A little bit closer. I can't get you if you don't get within reach of me. I don't have the strength for it._

The man came closer. Tim could almost feel him.

Another step.

Close enough. He hoped. Tim's hold on the knife became a white-knuckle grip.

...and he sprang up from his supine position, knife flying toward the target.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan came awake at the first sound. Then, he heard the cry and he didn't waste any time wondering what was going on. He just knew that there shouldn't be that kind of sound on the other side of the curtain.

He sprang out of bed and flung the curtain aside. There was a man staggering back away from the bed, a knife sticking out of his shoulder, but he was armed himself with a scalpel. Stan, pulled the curtain down and threw it at the man. It was enough of a surprise that he toppled to the floor.

And then the door to the room burst open and Agent Weaver was there, her gun drawn.

"Federal agent! Stand down!" she said loudly.

The figure beneath the curtain stopped moving. There was a moment of silence...and then, blood began to stain the curtain.

Agent Weaver whipped back the curtain...and sighed. The man had cut his own throat...and he had done it right.

He was dead.

"Michael Miller," Matheson said. "I told you I knew who he was. I knew I was right."

"This is Michael Miller?" Tim asked softly, in between heavy breaths.

"Yeah. I recognized his build," Matheson said.

"He killed himself," Stan said. "Why?"

"He didn't want to get caught," Agent Weaver said.

"He'd killed before," Tim said. "The way he was moving. It wasn't an amateur."

"I wonder how many."

"I'm glad it wasn't plus one," Matheson said.

Tim smiled. "Me, too."

"Well...I think I'd better call someone," Agent Weaver said. "You guys are never boring."

Stan smiled winningly. "We wouldn't want to bore you, Geri. You're too nice."

"Thanks. You okay, McGee?"

Tim nodded. "I'm okay. Not great...but okay. When you call Gibbs, tell him that I'm glad he gave me a knife."

"Will do."

Stan looked at Tim and then at the body on the floor...the knife sticking out of his shoulder. He wouldn't have thought that Tim could do that much, but he supposed that there was no limit to what someone under threat could do.

...and Tim was a source of surprises.

"You ready for the next step, Tim?" Stan asked.

"What's that?"

"Figuring out why it happened."

"I think I'm ready right now."

"All right."

He handed Tim the laptop. They couldn't do anything about the dead man on the floor. What they _could_ do was do their part to solve the case.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

The rest of the night was sleepless...for most people. Tim and Stan tried valiantly to stay awake, but even with all the action in their room, Tim fell asleep pretty quickly, and Stan followed suit. The laptop was carefully closed and set to the side when it became clear that Tim wasn't going to be working any more that night.

Gibbs got his team in there to process the scene, and although they were tired, they all came running. It took a few minutes of searching, but they found Agent Draney in one of the supply closets. He was out cold and it would take time to bring him around enough to figure out how Miller had got by him although the general method seemed fairly obvious.

All in all, it had been too close. They couldn't keep this kind of thing up. Who knew if these guys would keep trying? They had to find them and put an end to this.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"All right, McGee, we'll get out of your hair and..." Tony looked up and saw that Tim wasn't about to care about whether or not Tony was in his hair. "How long has he been asleep?"

"About twenty minutes longer than Stan," Gibbs said.

Tony looked over and saw Stan sacked out on his bed.

"Where was I?"

"Checking on Agent Draney," Ziva said. "Gibbs and Ducky had to help Stan onto his bed because he was pretty much asleep already. He resisted, said he should be working."

Tony grinned.

"I can't believe they've been able to stay asleep while we're working in here."

"They were tired," Ziva said. "You must have heard Tim say that he hadn't been able to sleep before."

"Yeah, but Stan didn't say anything and it's not like we've been especially quiet in here."

"Well, _you_ have not been quiet."

"Ha, ha."

"Let's get this stuff back to NCIS," Gibbs said. "The sooner we get it all processed, the sooner we can be sure that Tim and Stan will be safe."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was renewed vigor when work began again the next morning. Even Tim and Stan, when they woke up with some chagrine, were rededicated to the need to track their attackers down. Too many people had been hurt, too many had been killed. It was time to end it.

Tim dove into the files with gusto. When he tired, he let Stan take over...while he gave directions. Even when he had to take a break to breathe more deeply, his mind was rushing through the different possibilities.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?" Tim asked. He was staring at the ceiling, thinking.

"You okay?"

"I'll feel a lot better when we have these guys in custody. As long as they're out there..."

"It's okay to be afraid," Stan said. He looked at the screen. "I was terrified."

"When?"

"The first time I realized that I couldn't breathe right...and that I might die. They had me on pure oxygen and I was still only barely getting enough. I just had to lie there and know that if it got any worse I'd die without being able to do anything about it." Stan took a deep breath and let it out. "I still have moments where I remember that and...all I want is to take a breath and feel the air doing what it's supposed to."

"I was terrified, too," Tim said, softly. "Not last night. I was scared last night, but I felt like I could do _something_ about it. When I woke up in Bethesda and they told me what they were going to do...put me in a coma...I figured that I'd never wake up again. I thought that I'd die in that state and never see anyone again. The seizures were almost constant. I had no hope that they'd figure out what to do. I was terrified."

Stan reached out and squeezed Tim's shoulder. Tim clumsily returned the gesture.

"But right now...I think we need to start with my newest idea," he said with a smile.

"What is that?"

"We're going to start with the account that bought the ship of horrors. I think we can find some identities that way."

"How?" Stan asked. "If it's a corporate account and in a secure..." He trailed off as he saw Tim's smile. "...not secure enough?"

"I don't think so. I think that I can...can find a name, maybe two. That's going to help us get a location. We'll get them."

"I'll trust you, Tim," Stan said. "As long as I don't have to be able to follow everything you're doing."

"You don't."

Tim gestured for the laptop and Stan set it on his lap. Tim dove into the work, and Stan was interested in seeing just how skilled Tim actually was when he wasn't being afflicted with muscle spasms at regular intervals. He was tired but he was working well.

"How long will this take, Tim?" Stan asked.

Tim looked up from the computer. "I don't know. You never know when you start, but as you keep working on it, you start to get a better idea. I'll have to work to get a better idea."

Stan smiled. "I'll let you get to it, then."

Tim grinned and got back to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One day later..._

"Offshore?" Tony repeated.

Keating nodded. "Yeah. And Singapore has become the new Swiss bank accounts since Switzerland made some new agreements with the U.S. about their banking policies. Privacy is number one and...well, we'd have to do something really illegal to get more information."

Tony looked at Gibbs.

"Can we freeze their funds at least?"

"If the courts order it," Gibbs muttered. "That takes time."

"And as soon as we do, they will move," Ziva said. "They'll know just how close we are."

"What about the FBI?" Keating asked. "Haven't they found anything?"

"DHS has been focusing on the drug itself and where it came from...and they're using a lot of the FBI for it," Tony said.

Gibbs' phone rang. He listened to Keating's report with half an ear.

"You told us not to do anything that would be _really_ illegal. So we didn't, and we'd have to if we were going to find information from their accounts."

"Gibbs."

"_Boss! Gibbs...we found them!"_

"Stan?"

"_We've tracked them down! Or, really, Tim tracked them down. He's a magician! I can't tell you how he did it, but he found where they are."_

"Where are they?"

"_Gibbs, I want to go with you."_

"Stan."

"_No, I need to be there when you get these guys."_

"You're not in any condition to go along."

"_I can handle it."_

"You don't need to be there."

"_Yes, I do. Tim knows he can't go along, but I can."_

"Why, Stan?"

"_You shouldn't have to ask that, Gibbs. You, of all people, shouldn't have to ask. You know why I need this."_

Gibbs sighed. He did understand, but he also knew that Stan hadn't exerted himself beyond moving into another room in the hospital since they'd got him breathing again.

"You follow my lead. I tell you to hang back, you hang back. Clear?"

"_Clear, Boss."_

"Good. We'll pick you up. Where are they?"

"_New Jersey."_

"You'll be ready to go?"

"_Absolutely."_

"Okay." Gibbs hung up. "McGee says he's found them. We're stopping to pick Stan up."

"What? Stan is not recovered enough to come along," Ziva said.

"He will be."

"In the next ten minutes?" Tony asked.

"He's coming," Gibbs said.

That was the end of it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They got the exact location and it was a longish drive, even with Gibbs doing the driving. They'd snagged a few FBI agents to come along as well. They didn't know what to expect in terms of how well-armed their targets might be or how prepared they might be for their arrival.

When they got to the address, it was a building that was nearly completely shuttered. They took the time to search around the building, get set up to go in. Ziva did some reconnaissance and found signs of the building being occupied...and not by squatters.

She gave Gibbs the thumbs up. Gibbs got on the radio.

"Are you ready, Fornell?"

"_We're in place, Gibbs. Ready to move in. I hope this is the right place."_

"It's right. We move in on my mark."

"_Got it."_

Gibbs looked at Stan who was beside him...and armed. He looked a bit tired, but determined.

"You ready, Stan?"

"Yes."

No hesitation. Gibbs nodded.

"Okay. On my mark. Three...two...one."

Agents burst out of cover from all sides and charged into the building. There were shouts of "Federal agents!" coming from all sides. Gibbs, Tony and Stan ran into the front entrance. They heard movement from the second floor and ran together. For a few minutes, it was like moving back in time to when they'd actually been on a team together...but that was a temporary feeling because, by the time they reached the second floor, Stan was flagging and breathing heavily. What Gibbs had feared was coming to pass. Stan just wasn't physically prepared for this. He paused.

"I'll catch up, Gibbs," he gasped. "Go on."

Gibbs nodded and followed the movement, Tony right beside him.

Two men were in one of the rooms. They had started to run for the fire escape.

"Griggs! Bonner! Stop and put your hands in the air! Federal agents!"

Griggs stopped and dropped the bag he was carrying.

"I give up!" he called.

Bonner, on the other hand, kept moving. Gibbs aimed.

"Bonner! Stop where you are!"

Then, someone barreled past him and right into Bonner. The two men were brought to the floor. Before Gibbs could do more than register that Stan was the one who had flung himself into the fray, Stan had regained his feet and was aiming his gun at Bonner. He was breathing heavily.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"Stan," Gibbs said.

"No, Gibbs," Stan said, not taking his eyes off Bonner. "Do you know who I am, Bonner?"

"No."

"You should. I'm one of the NCIS agents who you tried to kill. I'm one of the people on the receiving end of your tender mercies on that ship and then in the hospital. I'm one of the men who stopped Miller from killing anyone but himself. When you...are in prison for the rest of your life, I want you to remember that you didn't succeed in killing me. You didn't succeed in killing Tim. We survived, but you're going _down_." Stan looked at Gibbs for a moment and then back at the man on the floor. "The only reason _you're_ not dead right now is because I'm a better person than you are. You're under arrest."

Then, Stan backed off...actually, he backed up all the way to the wall and sagged against it while Gibbs moved in to read Bonner his rights. He kept an eye on Stan, but he had to keep most of his attention on the men in custody.

"Fornell!"

"_Got three in custody, Gibbs. One that I've never seen before, but I'm sure we'll get some information on him. You okay up there?"_

"Ziva with you?"

"_Yeah. You need her?"_

"Yeah. Second floor. We got Bonner and Griggs in custody."

"_Agent David, second floor."_

Thirty seconds and Ziva was in the room. She looked at Gibbs and then at Stan and raised her eyebrows, silently asking where he wanted her.

"Ziva, Tony, take these two down. We'll get them all processed with the FBI."

Tony nodded.

"Stan, you okay?" he asked.

Stan just waved his hand. Tony nodded and he and Ziva hauled Bonner and Griggs away. Gibbs walked over to Stan and waited.

"Thanks, Boss," Stan whispered, still gasping for breath.

"For what? Letting you run yourself into the ground?"

"Yes. I needed to do this...but I admit that...I went a bit far."

"You feel better?" Gibbs asked.

Stan looked up and smiled. "Yeah. A lot better."

"Why?"

Stan took a deep breath and swallowed. "I've felt...at the mercy of these people...since this started. I needed to...to _not_ feel that way. This helped. I was the one with the power, not them."

Gibbs nodded and then pulled Stan up and let him lean on him.

"Thanks, Gibbs. For letting me come...and for letting me lean on you."

"Your doctor is going to be furious," Gibbs said.

Stan let out a breathy chuckle.

"I'm okay with that."

"You make sure that you tell McGee about all this when you get back."

"Will do."

"Okay. Let's go."

"Gladly."

Gibbs helped Stan out of the building, relieved that things seemed to be on their way to a close.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"So that's five of the leaders out of the way?" Tim asked. "How many more are there?"

"That's all that Dr. Matheson had met," Stan said. "I guess he could have been wrong, but he seems to be a very...exacting sort of person."

Tim smiled. "Yeah. I think so. He may not have met all of them, though."

"Yeah, but I got the sense that not all of them are as devoted to their cause as Melanie Lawson is."

"You think they'll talk?"

"Unless I've lost all my ability to judge character."

"Oh? Are you good at that?" Tim asked with a bit of a twinkle in his eye.

"Only Gibbs is better, and I'd say that I'm better in some aspects. He's always had people to lean on. I've only had myself. Just me and thousands of sailors."

"Sounds pretty melodramatic."

"Oh, it could be at times," Stan said and grinned.

Tim nodded with a chuckle but then he looked around the hospital room, his eyes resting on the machines, on his bed, by turns, silently taking in all the trappings that indicated how close he'd come to death.

"Still thinking about it, huh?" Stan asked.

"While you were in New Jersey, my doctor came in to talk to me about everything I'd have to do...how much it's going to take to get me to full functioning again. I guess it's just on my mind." He sighed.

"What did he say?"

"He said that there was some damage to my skeletal system because of how severe the seizures were at the end but that none of the bones were outright broken...but I have to give the...the cracks time to heal. He said that there was some nerve damage but that it was minor. Basically, it's going to take months, anywhere from two to four...maybe longer since they don't know if there will be lasting damage from the nerve agent even though it might not have been..." Tim took a deep breath. "When I think about it, I just...I get this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach because of what they did...what they were _willing_ to do. It doesn't take much for me to remember _exactly_ what happened and how it felt."

"Yeah."

Tim looked at Stan. "I'm not trying to say that what I went through was worse than you. I was unconscious for a lot of it, but...coming out of that coma was hard. Going into it was hard. I'm almost afraid to move a lot for fear of causing more damage now."

"Did he say you might?"

Tim shook his head. "No...but it doesn't stop me from worrying about it."

"Will you have to have physical therapy?"

"Maybe. Probably. I've been out of action for a long time. They've done a little bit already, but they want to be careful while the bones are healing...and I'm okay with that, but...it's really frustrating."

"And frightening."

Tim nodded. "I'm jealous, you know. You get to go home soon."

"I won't be back to work anytime soon, though. I was soundly lectured for exerting myself...and having tried running, I don't know if I'll be trying it again for a while. I couldn't really breathe very well after running up one flight of stairs. Gibbs had to help me out after."

"...but you got them," Tim said. "You got them and they won't be doing that again."

"That's right. We did."

Tim suddenly closed his eyes and took a breath. His face screwed up and Stan could see that he was trying not to cry. He reached out and squeezed Tim's shoulder as he had before.

"It's all right, Tim. It's going to be all right. ...and I'll be here all through it. I said I'd have your back and that doesn't end just because we've been saved. I may go back to Agent Afloat eventually, but I figure that we're going to be teammates because of what we went through with all this. So if it takes you months to get better, that's fine. If you need to have physical therapy, I'll help as much as I can. You'll have friends and family, of course, too. It's not like Gibbs would let you go through this alone...and from what I've seen of your parents, they wouldn't, either."

Tim managed a shaky smile after a few seconds.

"They wouldn't. No."

"So don't worry. You won't be alone...probably not even if you _want_ to be."

"Yeah."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out deliberately slowly. Stan let him calm down without pressing him to talk more while he was trying to regain control. He didn't see any point in pushing if Tim really didn't want to fall apart. For a few minutes, they sat in silence.

"Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't you miss your family?"

"Maybe sometimes. Not usually. My life has been this way for a long time...probably more than 20 years."

"Will you call them?"

"Now? I don't know."

"You should, you know...even if it's not a big deal. What if you _had_ died and...and that's all they ever knew?"

"Practicing for the peacemaker position?" Stan asked.

Tim shook his head. "No. It doesn't sound like you need one for your family. ...but I have to admit that I think it's kind of sad that you didn't have any family here for all this. You were going through so much...and..."

"I had the next best thing," Stan said.

"What?"

"Friends. I don't have a big social circle and generally I don't need one. I'm like Gibbs in that respect, only without all the angst."

Tim grinned.

"But you could be right. I've thought about it...but I chickened out. Now that I'm getting better, I would have to tell them that I almost died but didn't want them to know. It's not like I could lie and say that I didn't think of it. I did and I decided not to."

"You think it will make things worse?"

"I don't know. It might. It might not."

"Well, it's not my place to tell you what to do, but I think it might be nice."

"I'll keep that in mind," Stan said wryly.

"How much longer will you be here?"

"I don't know. Few more days at least. Dr. Mason is still worried about what that drug might have done to my lungs. I'll be coming back here for weeks, probably months while they make sure that my lungs aren't going to suddenly collapse."

"Are you worried about that?"

Stan nodded. "Yeah. A little."

Tim nodded, too. It was interesting that the two of them could be so open about how they felt when neither would be willing to admit that fear to many other people. Stan figured it was because they had both gone through it. What was the point in hiding fear from someone who completely understood that fear?

"We have to be able to get back to work, doing what we did before. Otherwise...it'll feel like they win, even if they're in prison."

"Yeah. I feel that way, too. There's something else we need to think about."

"What?" Tim asked.

"Dr. Banks."

"No one's really told me what's happening with him."

"I don't know if anyone knows exactly what's going to happen. He went into a psychiatric hospital. I asked Ducky and he said that Dr. Banks, at best, will have his license suspended, but he's not ready to go before the board yet."

Tim nodded and thought about it.

"He thought about trying to kill me but...all I feel for him now is pity. It's just so...awful what they did to him. He saved you and he was doing his best for me."

"Yeah."

"You need to make sure that if you hear when he's going...we need to be there. We need to do something for him. I don't know if it will make a difference, but you and I were the targets and if we feel like he deserves to practice medicine...they would listen, wouldn't they?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "I don't have any experience with this kind of thing."

"Me, neither," Tim said and smiled. "I just don't want these people to win. They killed so many in the name of some nebulous...service they were going to provide, but they killed the people they were claiming to save...and they were trying to kill to cover their tracks. They could have ruined Dr. Banks' life. They could have killed _us_, but they didn't. I want to save every person they tried to destroy."

"As a way of getting things back to normal?" Stan asked.

"Maybe. I couldn't be there to take them down. I have to...get my...whatever...control over my life...some other way."

Stan understood that. He knew that Tim had the same feelings he did. It was hard to accept what had happened and neither of them wanted to cede any power to the people who had tried to kill them.

"I'll be very irritating to Ducky and make sure we're kept in the loop."

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

Naomi poked her head in.

"Are we intruding?"

Stan chuckled.

"I don't think parents can intrude, can they?"

Naomi laughed and opened the door all the way to let Sam in.

"Oh, parents always intrude."

"Not in this case," Tim said.

Sam and Naomi came into the room and hugged Tim tightly. Then, Naomi hugged Stan as well.

"You have no idea how great it is to come here and not have to expect bad news," she said.

"You have no idea how nice it not to _be_ the bad news," Stan said in reply.

"Having _been_ the bad news in my time," Sam said, "I have an inkling."

Stan watched as Sam and Naomi settled down beside Tim's bed to chat with their son for a while. Sarah had been in and out as well. He knew that it wouldn't be like this for him, but...

He got to his feet.

"Hey, I'll be back."

"You don't have to leave. We're not having a private conversation," Sam said.

"I know," Stan said. "But I need to...make a call." He held up his phone.

Tim raised an eyebrow and Stan smiled but didn't say anything. He just excused himself and walked to a place where he could be alone. An awkward conversation like this would be was not one he wanted to have with an audience. He didn't have any trouble remembering what the number was.

"_Burleys."_

"Hi...Mom. It's Stan."

"_Stan."_ The surprise was unfeigned. _"It's been quite a while since you called."_

"Yeah, I know."

"_I was actually just thinking about you. We saw this...thing in the news the other day, a couple of NCIS agents got attacked or something...and a lot of other people were killed. Did you know about it?"_

Stan smiled.

"Yeah, Mom. I know all about it."

"_Stan..."_

"Yeah."

He could tell the exact moment the realization hit home.

"_That's why you're calling?"_

"Basically."

"_How bad?"_

"The other agent and I almost died. I'm actually still in the hospital. I'm fine, but I'm not recovered just yet."

"_And you waited until now to call?"_

"Yeah, I did."

A moment of silence.

"Mom, you know why."

"_I do, but I would have come and I wouldn't have begrudged you that. None of us would."_

"I know. At first, I really wasn't thinking clearly enough to think about anything much, but I didn't call when I thought of it."

"_I don't know that we'll ever really get over this...whatever you want to call it, Stan, but you're still my son, and I'm sorry that you didn't want to call when you were suffering. I would have wanted to come."_

Stan smiled and took a breath.

"Well...you still could, I guess. It's going to be months before I'm approved to go back to work."

"_You're still an agent afloat?"_

"Yeah. It's not going to change until they make me."

Another long pause.

"_I'm glad you're happy with what you're doing, Stan."_

"Thanks, Mom." Stan could tell that had been hard to say, but he didn't comment on it.

"_Do you have any problem with my telling your sisters?"_

"No. Of course, I don't, but they don't need to feel like they're obligated to come."

"_Yeah, I know. ...but, Stan, I _will_ be coming, even if it's only for a day or two."_

"Thanks, Mom."

"_And maybe you should think about...coming home for...Thanksgiving or Christmas or even Easter. It's been so long, and...and no matter how much I don't understand the choice you made, the last thing I want is to have my last communication from you to be someone informing me that you'd died. I'm sorry that...that I let this become normal for us. It's twenty years too late, but I am sorry."_

"It's okay, Mom. I'm as much to blame. I could have said something myself."

"_Okay. Let's move on, shall we?"_

Stan chuckled a little. "It'll be nice to see you."

"_Really?"_

He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Mostly."

"_I'll let you know."_

"Okay. Bye, Mom."

"_Bye, Stan. Thanks for calling, even if you put it off."_

Stan hung up and took a breath. He was actually surprised that his mother had decided to come. He wasn't upset about it, but it wasn't what he'd expected. He figured that it would be two days tops before they both were ready for the visit to be over.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So?" Gibbs asked.

"Griggs is singing like a canary," Tony said. "He barely waited for his lawyer to get here before he started talking. Bonner called most of the shots, and Lawson was recruited as were a couple of others."

"What about Miller?" Ziva asked.

"According to Griggs, he was more or less a killer for hire. They kept him because he had medical training and was around to clean up."

"How do you go from medical school to committing murder for money?" Abby asked. She was perched on Tim's desk.

They had gathered to give a report on all the tendrils of this case before it got passed on. Because the FBI and DHS were both involved, it wasn't going to be as simple as the case going to JAG, but they'd be done with their part in it once they finished collating all the data.

"What about Tim and Stan?" Ziva asked. "Are they still in danger?"

"It doesn't look like it. Miller was the clean-up crew and they're not big enough players to be any danger now."

"They will all be linked to the murders," Ducky said. "With Dr. Matheson's testimony, and the bodies of those unfortunate men, they will be hard-pressed to avoid multiple murder charges."

"Good," Tony said darkly. "I don't want any of them seeing the light of day again."

"I still think it would have been better if we had taken care of it ourselves," Abby said. "No one would have known."

Gibbs just smiled.

"Okay. Get everything set up, organized and we'll get it sent off," he said. "Then, all that's left is to clean up the loose ends."

"I'm glad there _are_ some," Abby said softly.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

Tim was off having an x ray. Stan was sitting around, twiddling his thumbs and hoping to get definitive news on when he'd be released. The sooner, the better.

There was soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Stan said. Whoever it was would be a welcome distraction.

The door opened and Stan sat up quickly.

"Mom."

She smiled. There were a lot more wrinkles than he remembered.

"You're pretty grown up, Stan," she said.

"I hope so."

"But I can see that you must have had a rough time. You're still looking really pale."

"Yeah, they don't let me out much yet."

She walked over, looked him up and down, and then hugged him gently. She didn't say anything. Neither did Stan. Even with how long it had been, words weren't necessary.

They both understood.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Over the next week, Tim's doctor tentatively started Tim on his physical therapy. Very light, accompanied with strict instructions that Tim should tell them if there were _any_ problems, _any_ pain. Anything that caused him discomfort should be reported, no matter how minor.

Stan was released, and his mother stayed for two days before deciding to head back to Minnesota. She had reiterated the invitation to come for a holiday. Stan hadn't committed, but he had appreciated the sincerity. She had been shaken by knowing that her son had nearly died but hadn't contacted anyone.

Ducky offered to let Stan stay with him while he was in DC since his apartment was in Norfolk and he was still going to Bethesda quite a bit. It was just easier to stay in DC. Besides, it gave him a chance to continually grill Ducky on what he knew about how things were shaping up with the case. Stan wasn't working yet, and wouldn't be for some time. Instead, he spent most of his day helping Tim as much as he could with his physical therapy. Most of it was rebuilding Tim's muscle tone after his extended time in the induced coma. They'd started with some EMS to get things going until his bones healed. They were knitting quickly, but they didn't want to wait for that before getting started.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two weeks later..._

"Okay, Tim, Stan is supporting your back. So just relax. Remember how we had you doing those strokes yesterday? We're going to keep on with that. This time, Stan is going to be your support, and if _either_ of you have any trouble, you let me know. I'll be right here."

Tim smiled and stared up at the ceiling. It felt a little strange to be doing his therapy this way, but he had to admit that it was relaxing to be in the warm water. Stan had offered to help, but Tim was surprised at how far his willingness went. He was standing in the pool, holding Tim up and didn't seem at all uncomfortable at his task.

"How do you like holding me above the water?" Tim asked, smiling a little.

"Oh, it's better than anything else I could have been doing with my day," Stan said in reply. "I think that Ducky is relieved that I have things to occupy my time."

"I'm glad I could oblige."

"Just relax and don't be embarrassed. Pretend it's swimming lessons again."

Tim smiled, a little chagrined that his embarrassment was so obvious. He started the backstroke, remembering that he wasn't really trying to learn the stroke. It was the resistance that was important, the resistance that would build up his muscles again. The aquatic therapy would help him until they were more confident that his bone structure was sound.

"How is that feeling, Tim?"

"Okay. I just feel...a little silly. It's like I'm stuck in the kiddie pool again...only I'm an adult. It's been probably more than twenty years since I had swimming lessons."

"Don't think like that," Stan said. "You're fighting the best fight there is...and you get to play in the water to boot. Not many people get to do that."

Tim laughed and tried to relax...and focus on his exercises. He _was_ noticing a significant decrease in how weak he felt as he was working on this stuff. It was a wonderful improvement compared to right after he'd awakened and could barely lift his hand. Once they had seen how well he was doing, his parents had gone back to Ohio, but they would be coming on the weekend to check on his progress. Once he was walking again, he had promised to visit them in Ohio for a little while, provided he could continue with whatever exercises he was given.

Right now, though, he had to remind himself that he wasn't learning how to swim. He was strengthening his muscles after they'd had time to atrophy from disuse. The water gave him resistance without the pressure that might damage his bones...and Stan was keeping him from sinking.

His physical therapist had allowed Stan to take his place while Tim was working on the strokes. To his credit, Stan hadn't made fun of him once, and Tim was grateful for that. This was hard enough.

"So...Tim...I have a question for you," Stan said as Tim started kicking his legs.

"What's that?" Tim asked. He was already feeling a bit breathless.

"I was thinking of...well, of asking Ziva out. What do you think?"

Tim was so shocked that he forgot to hold his body stiff and he started to sit up...causing him to sink and flail his arms in panic before Stan helped him back up.

"Whoa. I didn't think it was _that_ shocking," Stan said with a laugh.

Terrence, Tim's physical therapist, jumped into the water as well and helped Tim regain his former position, floating on his back.

"You all right now, Tim?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Don't say things like that when I'm trying to float."

"My apologies," Stan said with an unrepentant grin.

Tim looked from Stan to Terrence and rolled his eyes. Both looked heartily entertained.

"Do you think you can finish up?" Terrence asked. "We do still have a few more minutes before I get you on the mat."

"I think I can manage," Tim said and stuck out his tongue at Stan.

"So? What do you think?" Stan asked.

"Why?"

"Well...she's quite attractive, seems to be smart and she's been quite nice to me. It's not like I'm proposing to her. I just thought I'd ask her on a date. You think she'd say yes?"

"I have no idea," Tim said as he started another backstroke. "I don't think she'd say no unless she had a good reason."

"Oh, I see. A mercy date?" Stan asked.

"No! That's not what I meant!" Tim said and gave up on the strokes. He rolled over and let his feet drop to the bottom of the pool. The water came up to his chest which gave him just enough buoyancy to keep himself upright for a few seconds.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be walking yet," Stan said.

"I can't have a conversation when I'm lying on my back. It's...just not fair. I'm at a disadvantage."

Tim wobbled a bit. It was the first time he'd stood upright since this whole mess had started. Stan grabbed his arms.

"So...is he allowed to stand?" he asked Terrence.

Terrence smiled. "Sure...unless it's causing you any pain."

"No. I'm just embarrassed that I can't stand very well," Tim said.

"You shouldn't be," Terrence said. "You're doing fine. In fact, if you want to walk around a bit in the water, feel free. I'll get the mat ready. Give me a few minutes."

"Thanks."

"Well, do you want to walk or stand?" Stan asked.

"Just stand for now. I'm not sure I could manage walking."

"Okay. So...Ziva?"

"Go ahead. _I'm_ not dating her."

"Is someone else?" Stan asked. "I don't want to step on any toes."

"Not as far as I know. She had a bad experience with a guy she was dating last year. She might be a little...leery. Other than that, I don't think there'd be a problem."

"Great! Thanks," Stan said.

Tim looked at him with surprise. "Why?"

"Well...I'm not doing a whole lot. It's always nice to have options...and if the option happens to be a good-looking woman...all the better."

Tim smiled.

"Tim, you ready to get out?" Terrence asked.

"Sure."

"Stan, carefully, lead him to the stairs. Tim, if you feel _any_ pain or discomfort at all while you're coming out of the pool, let me know. This is a test to see if you can tolerate it."

"Right."

Tim prepared himself for it. He knew he'd have to lean on Stan quite a bit, and he wasn't worried about that, but with this being the first time he'd tried to walk, he was afraid that there _would_ be pain...meaning that there were still injuries remaining from his seizures.

"We'll just take it slow, Tim," Stan said, encouragingly. He'd shifted from teasing to supporting in an instant. "Hang on tight and let's go."

"All right."

They walked toward the stairs. Tim lifted his foot to the first step and let the buoyancy of the water propel him forward. Then, he pressed down...and let out a sigh of relief. Even though he knew it wasn't all his weight, he still felt only relief when he realized there was no pain.

"One down, three to go," Stan said with a triumphant smile.

"Yeah."

"You feeling all right?"

"Fine."

"Great! Let's go!"

Tim got to the mat, not walking on his own really, but not letting Stan do all the work, either. It was a major step forward...even if the actual pace had been slow and halting.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva was sitting at her desk, working on a report. Even after they'd sent all the details of the case to JAG and the FBI, they kept getting more requests for clarification on various points. This time, it was Ziva's turn to clarify what she had observed with Dr. Matheson and Melanie Lawson when they discovered Melanie's duplicity. Abby was working with Ducky on the simulations she'd designed.

She was tired of these constant requests for details. It was as if they had deliberately searched for something to get more information on...just to make her life miserable.

Her phone rang. Ziva debated not answering it. She couldn't imagine that it would be anything she wanted to hear. Still, she'd been well-trained to answer her phone.

"Agent David."

"_Hi. Agent David? Ziva?"_

"Yes. Who is this?"

"_It's Stan. Burley?"_

"Oh. Yes? What is it?"

"_Well...I'll just come out and ask. Will you go out on a date with me?"_

"What?"

"_A date? Dinner, maybe?"_

"Oh." Ziva pulled her mind away from her report and focused on the fact that Stan was asking her out.

"_That wasn't the enthusiastic agreement I'd been hoping for."_

"I am sorry, Stan. I must admit that I was not expecting it."

"_Yeah, I'm sure. Tim wasn't, either, when I asked him if you'd say yes."_

Ziva laughed. "What did he say?"

"_Are you saying yes?"_

Ziva laughed again. "Yes. I would like to get dinner with you."

"_Then, what Tim said doesn't matter...but he said he didn't know."_

"When?"

"_Well, that depends on your availability."_

"This weekend would be best. Saturday night?"

"_Sounds great. Now, here's the awkward part. I don't have a car here, but we could take the Metro."_

"Then, I will give you my address and you can come to get me. Are you feeling well enough?"

"_As long as you don't ask me to do any running, I'll be fine. Seven?"_

"That sounds lovely. I will see you on Saturday at seven."

"_Great! I'll be there."_

Ziva hung up and sat back. _That_ was unexpected, but it was a pleasant surprise. She smiled and got back to work, hoping that the weekend would come soon.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky got home a little bit later than he'd planned, but it was still in plenty of time to have dinner, but he also had some news to share with Stan, with full knowledge that Stan would then tell Tim. They both deserved the chance to play the part they wanted to play.

"Stan?" he called as he came inside.

There was no response, and for a moment, Ducky's heart was in his throat. There was a horrible thought that something had happened to Stan, some unforeseen side effect to the AntiEP drug that had led to a collapse or even death.

"Stan?" he called out again and walked toward the study. When he got inside, he let out a whoosh of relief.

Stan was lying out on the couch, asleep. The reason Ducky was sure he was sleeping was that Stan was snoring softly. There was a book on the floor beside his dangling hand. Ducky smiled. Stan was usually pretty careful to be in control of himself during the day. It was just part of his personality. To see him so thoroughly relaxed (or exhausted) was nice.

"Stanley?"

Stan mumbled unintelligibly for a few seconds but didn't really wake up.

"Stan, that's not your usual eloquence."

"Name's not Stanley," Stan said and yawned widely. "What time is it?"

"About seven."

"Oh..." Stan opened his eyes and looked around until he finally saw Ducky. "Hey, Ducky. I...I hadn't planned on sleeping. I did my exercises and I think that..." He yawned again. "...they tired me out."

"That's quite all right. Have you eaten?"

"No. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight."

"I'd wager that you'll be up to it. I'll get dinner ready and I have some news for you. So when you've rejoined the waking world completely, come on into the kitchen."

"Will do."

Which proved, to Ducky at least, that Stan was _not_ fully alert. Being told that there was news would normally have got his attention in an instant. He went into the kitchen and started dinner. It wasn't going to be anything fancy, but he knew that Stan wouldn't care. He took his turn cooking as a show of gratitude for what Ducky was doing for him. About five minutes later, Stan came in.

"You said you had news?"

Ducky looked up and smiled. Stan was now fully alert.

"Yes. I've been keeping up with Dr. Banks' situation, as you know."

"And?"

"And he will be going before the Maryland Board of Physicians next week, on Tuesday."

"He's being released?"

"Conditionally. He has made some progress according to his psychiatrist and is ready to face whatever consequences will result from his decision."

"Will we be able speak on his behalf?" Stan asked.

"I believe you will if you wish to."

"We want to. Tim _needs_ to."

"Why?"

"Because he feels like this is how he'll recover...if he can stop the suffering that these guys inflicted on us. He's including Dr. Banks in that."

"Well, I hope you both realize that the likelihood of Dr. Banks not having his license at least _suspended_ for some period of time is very low. Given the fact that he hid his previous mistake and that he did aid people who had less-than-savory motives, plus he considered, no matter how briefly, killing two of his patients."

"Yeah...but he's a good doctor, Ducky. He was so devoted to trying to help us, even when he had no idea what to do."

"That is something for the board to consider, definitely."

"I hope that it works out. It's almost like...this is going to be the real healing, not when Tim and I can go back to work, but when we can see that the other sufferer can...stop suffering."

"I hope that you can both find the healing you seek...and if Dr. Banks can also benefit, so much the better."

Stan nodded.

"But for now...we should eat."

Stan smiled. "Okay. By the way, I'm going on a date with Ziva on Saturday."

Ducky laughed. "What?"

"Why is everyone so surprised?"

"It's been a while since anyone has been so...simple in their interests. Your expression of interest is...refreshing, I think. I'm glad she accepted."

"Me, too. Now, I feel this pressure to impress."

"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about it. Having a _normal_ date would likely be nice for her."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"One other thing to keep in mind."

"What's that?"

Ducky smiled. "You're doing a wonderful job, both with your own healing and with Timothy's."

Stan smiled in reply. "I'm doing my best."

"That's all anyone could possibly ask."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

_Tuesday..._

"I wish I was walking," Tim said in a low voice.

"Well, you're not," Stan said equally softly. "It's not going to lessen what you have to say. These are doctors. They won't care if you're in a wheelchair."

"Does Dr. Banks know we're coming?"

Ducky shook his head. "No, he doesn't. His advocate knows, but as far as he is concerned, Dr. Banks is simply submitting himself to justice. He still thinks he deserves no mercy."

"But he does!" Tim said firmly. "He deserves a lot of mercy, for everything he did before and how easily he stopped himself after. He's a good man who got knocked down by people who knew how to do it. A mistake that he made twenty years ago shouldn't ruin his life."

"Keep in mind, Timothy, that the family of the young woman who died all those years ago may not feel the same."

"I know, but he's already punished himself for that, over and over from you've said. I think that's enough."

"That's what you'll have to tell the board. The decision will be theirs in the end."

"Do you think they'll listen?" Tim asked.

"That I can't say," Ducky said. He looked at Stan and Tim both. "All you both can do is your best. No one can ask more than that."

Then, the door opened.

"Agent McGee, Agent Burley, Dr. Mallard. You may all come in now."

Stan took hold of Tim's chair and pushed it into the room. It wasn't really a courtroom, but it had more than its share of the trappings. They saw Dr. Banks sitting beside his advocate at the front of the room. There was a stenographer of sorts and the committee who was reviewing the situation.

The advocate turned back and smiled.

"I'm grateful to the board for allowing some outside testimony beyond that of physicians," he said. "As people who were intimately affected by Dr. Banks, NCIS Special Agents Timothy McGee and Stan Burley have both expressed a desire to give their perceptions about what happened and what they feel should be done."

As he spoke, Dr. Banks turned around in his chair and stared at them in something akin to shock. He looked at them both searchingly, clearly wondering what they would have to say, whether it would be for or against him. Tim smiled a little and Dr. Banks turned back to the front. They were brought to the front and Dr. Banks' advocate gestured for them to speak. Tim felt Stan nudge him. He felt a little tongue-tied to be honest. It was not every day that he gave what amounted to a testimony that could affect the course of a man's entire life.

"I'm Agent McGee," he said. "I was abducted and given an experimental, synthetic drug...combined with a nerve agent. When Agent Burley and I were rescued and brought to Bethesda, Dr. Banks was our physician. I'm not a doctor, but from all that I know, he was doing his best to save my life even when no one knew what to do. He took the time to explain to me what was going to be done before they put me in an induced coma. Agent Burley can say more what happened in that space of time than I can." He looked up at Stan.

Stan took a breath. "While Agent McGee was in a coma, Dr. Banks worked closely with Dr. Mallard here and Abigail Sciuto. Dr. Mallard could say for certain whether or not Dr. Banks was trying to help, but when I began losing my ability to breathe, Dr. Banks was there trying to figure out how to keep me from suffocating. He could have let me die at any time and it would have just seemed to be unfortunate. No one knew what was going on until Dr. Matheson was able to figure out a treatment, but Dr. Banks kept me alive. He kept both of us alive."

"And when he came into Agent McGee's room, armed with a syringe containing a drug intended to kill him?"

Tim knew that this was his part to explain.

"I was afraid. I don't deny that. When I first heard him come into the room, and Stan saw him there, I was afraid."

Dr. Banks stared at the table.

"But that passed, almost instantly. As soon as Stan asked him what he was doing, I could see that he wasn't going to do anything. What I saw was not a man ready to kill me. I saw a man who had somehow been broken and I had no idea how it had happened. Dr. Banks just stood there by my bed. He made no move, and at that point, I couldn't have stopped him, and Stan probably couldn't have either. If he had really wanted to kill us, he would have. I can't say anything about who he was before this. All I know is that Dr. Banks is a good doctor and, if he were to be my physician again, I'd trust him...even with all that's happened."

"I would, too," Stan said. "Dr. Banks saved my life more than once. I don't have words to describe how it felt when I was struggling to breathe and what a relief it was to have Dr. Banks helping me. Whatever he did in the past, I only know him as a good doctor."

Tim looked over at Dr. Banks again. He hadn't looked up, but his shoulders were shaking. His hands were covering his face.

"Dr. Banks," he said, addressing him directly. "I'm not going to pretend that I think your considering the possibility of killing me was right...but you know that already. I don't think you could ever be punished for that more than you already punished yourself. I could see it in your eyes...how much you hated yourself for what you had thought of doing. I think that means something. I think it means a lot. No one stopped you. You stopped yourself."

Dr. Banks didn't raise his head.

"Is that all you have to tell us?"

Tim looked back at the committee and nodded.

"Yes."

"Agent Burley?"

"I've said what I have to say."

"Dr. Mallard, do you have anything to add?"

"Only that I can say with certainty that, until the men who were blackmailing Dr. Banks put the pressure on, he was trying his best to save these two men."

"Thank you. You may be excused."

Stan nodded and pulled Tim out of the room. Tim stopped him when they were back in the hall.

"How long will it take them to decide, do you think?" Tim asked.

"I don't know," Ducky said. "I've never been privy to a situation like this."

"Can we wait?" Tim asked.

"You can't stay here forever, Tim," Stan said.

"A few minutes isn't forever."

"I'm okay with waiting a little bit."

They sat in silence for a few minutes and then the door opened again. Dr. Banks and his advocate came out. He stopped in surprise when he saw them there.

"I didn't know you were staying," the advocate said.

"We just wanted to see if we could find out what was going to happen," Tim said.

"Why?" Dr. Banks asked, his voice soft. "Why would you care?"

It was the first time he'd spoken in their presence since that night in Tim's hospital room. It was shocking how much older he seemed now. His voice was soft and quavery and his shoulders were slumped. It was like looking at a completely different person.

"Because I don't want them to win," Tim said. "Not in anything that they tried to do. They killed probably close to twenty people. They tried to kill Stan and me. They tried to ruin you. I can't stop them from committing those murders, but Stan and I survived. ...and if I can help you get your life back from them, I'll do anything I can to make sure it happens. You deserve better than to have them beat you."

Dr. Banks actually smiled a little. "They already beat me. Didn't you notice?"

"It's only half time," Stan said. "And they lost all their star players. You can make a comeback. ...and I promise that is the first athletic analogy I've made in years."

Dr. Banks laughed. "In my other life, I played sports."

"What's going to happen now?" Tim asked.

"We're waiting to find out."

"How long will it take?" Stan asked.

"I don't know. It could be a few minutes. It could be hours."

"Do you mind if we wait?" Tim asked.

"Should you be up for extended periods yet?" Dr. Banks asked, sounding almost like his old self.

Tim smiled. "I'm okay...as long as I'm not standing."

"But he _won't_ be up for too long," Ducky said, firmly. "I'll be making certain of that."

"If you want to wait, I don't mind."

"Thanks."

Stan rolled Tim over to a bench and then sat down beside him. Dr. Banks didn't sit down. He seemed to worried and anxious to do anything but stand, almost motionless.

Five minutes passed.

Then, ten.

After fifteen minutes, Tim knew that Ducky would suggest that he leave. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to see that he'd been able to do something. Something that would make things better, something that would stop the men who had attacked him, stop them from triumphing any more than they already had.

Then, the door opened.

"Dr. Banks? We're ready for you."

Dr. Banks turned toward the door. The man gestured for him to go inside. Tim didn't try to get Stan to follow. He just waited. Ducky didn't try to insist that he leave. They waited for a few minutes and then the door opened again. Dr. Banks came out. He didn't say anything. Ducky walked over.

"What was the result?" he asked gently.

Dr. Banks took a breath. "My license is suspended...for a minimum of two years."

"But you can get it back again?"

"Contingent upon my getting treatment. They have access to all my old records and they said that...that what happened before wasn't negligence but my hiding my past..."

"I understand. What will you do with your time?"

"I'll be going back to the psychiatric facility for a while. Other than that...I don't know."

Ducky gave him a card. "Please, if you need anything, call me. I'll be more than happy to try to give you a hand."

Dr. Banks nodded and then walked over to Tim and Stan. He took a breath.

"I can't thank you enough for what you did. It's nothing that you had to do, nothing that I expected. I'm...grateful, and I always will be. I'll remember what you both did for me."

He put out his hand. Tim shook it firmly and Stan did the same.

"Good luck," Dr. Banks said. "You're both looking much better."

"Good luck to you," Tim said.

"Thanks."

Tim watched as Dr. Banks walked away. Then, he sighed a little.

"I'm glad he has a _chance_ of working again, but it's too bad that he has to wait."

"That is justice, Timothy," Ducky said. "Justice _and_ mercy. He did do things that he should not have done, but what he did was not enough to justify destroying his life...and now, he will have the time to recover his self-respect. I don't believe that he's had that for twenty years."

Tim nodded.

"So...you ready to go, Tim?" Stan asked.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

"Good. Anything left?"

Tim smiled as they headed for the exit. "Yeah. One thing."

"What?"

"We both have to get back to work."

"Well, then, if you get back to your therapy, you'll be back to work all the sooner."

Tim chuckled.

"Well, then, hurry it up, Stan! I can't get there on my own."

Stan laughed.

"Fine, then. Be that way."

They headed off, knowing that they'd done what they could and that it had been enough for now.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Five months later..._

"Are you ready?" Tim asked.

"Are you kidding?" Stan asked, grinning. "If I have to stay on land any longer, I'll go nuts! Even my mom said that it looked like I was going stir crazy when I went home for Thanksgiving."

Tim laughed. "Well, it's a good thing the _Nimitz_ hadn't left port then, isn't it."

Stan took a deep breath.

"Can't you smell that sea air?"

"Yes, and it's nice, but there's no way I'm going on board with you. Are _you_ ready to go back on a ship?"

Stan took another breath and looked at the carrier.

"I'll admit that I've had my moments. That was the hardest thing for me, you know...realizing that I'd started to hate ships, just because of what happened. I decided I didn't want to let that ruin what I had always enjoyed. So I decided to work on it."

"I'm not ready to deal with that, but that's more because of seasickness."

Stan laughed. "You only threw up at the beginning."

"Well, I was a bit distracted after that, what with my muscles spasming every few seconds."

"So...no Agent Afloat for you?"

"No, but I'm glad you're going back."

"Me, too. Thanks for the ride over. Are you starting back to work?"

"Next week," Tim said. "They're finally letting me off desk duty."

"So...do you know what that means?"

"What _what_ means?" Tim asked.

Stan grinned. "That means that we're officially back to normal. You're going back to work. I'm going back to work. They didn't win."

"You sure it's not an illusion?" Tim asked, smiling a little.

"Positive. The only illusion was that those guys might have won at all."

Tim laughed. Stan just tossed his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed up the gangway.

"Hey, Stan!" Tim called.

"What?"

"Fair winds and following seas!"

Stan turned around and saluted. Then, he went on board. Tim watched him go and took a deep breath. Then, he headed back to his car. As he got in, his phone rang.

"McGee," he said.

"_And?"_

Tim smiled. "He's safely aboard, Boss."

"_And you?"_

"On my way back. I'll be there next week."

"_It'll be good to have you back. Drive safe."_

"Will do, Boss."

Tim hung up and headed back to DC. Everything might not be perfect, but it was as close to normal as it could be...and that was good enough.

FINIS!


End file.
